Anger Management
by RahNee
Summary: A bitter & angry Hermione is alienating her friends. An out of control Draco nearly loses his job. These are merely the circumstances that force a chance meeting in the most unlikely of places…& lead to the beginnings of…Anger Management. DHr,postHogwarts
1. Chapter 1

**Anger Management by RahNee**

**Author Note and Dedication:** A very long time ago, my dear friend and beta, Lorett, was bugging me to write a Draco/Hermione story. Here is how that first conversation went:

**RahNee**: Ronnie walks cautiously to the open ocean that is Dramione and carefully dips her big toe into the water. It's scary, and very deep out there.

She slowly slaps on the SCUBA gear...

checks the regulator…

air in the tank?

Yep…

fins on?

Yep…

**Lorett**: (chuckling)

**RahNee**: mask?

**Lorett**: COME ON, you can't be THAT scared.

**RahNee**: snorkel? shark repellant?

**Lorett**: I just plunged right in; best way to handle a big, chilly pool. Then, once you're in you see it's a lot warmer than you thought.

Shark repellant! LOL

You can sit in my dingy, darling, I've got room.

**RahNee**: I need my weight belt... to sink below the dross of all the CRAPPY Dramione out there.

**Lorett**: No kidding!

**RahNee**: OK, I'm ready to plunge in.

**Lorett**: GA! TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH.

**RahNee**: I know. (smacking my head) Like I NEED to be working on another story!

She has been haranguing me on a regular basis ever since. Little did she know; I had a brilliant idea for a birthday present for her! So I have been penning this story in secret, telling little white lies to my beta ("No, Lorett dear, I didn't get _anything_ worthwhile written this weekend."), feverishly hoping to get at least the first chapter done in time to post it for her birthday on July 20. Please forgive any mistakes. I couldn't very well have Lorett beta it for me and keep it a surprise!

**So without further ado; Lorett lovey, I dedicate this, my first D/Hr story, to you. Thanks for all your love, friendship and support. And for riding my sorry arse until I wrote this! I love you. Happy Birthday, darling!

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**Anger Management **

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe. Any characters, etiquette books, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR's works, well then you can safely assume they are mine.**

**----- -----**

THIS WAY TO ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASS read the block letter sign posted in the foyer of the largest wizarding public library in Britain, which was located just off of Diagon Alley, of course, not far from Gringotts Bank. The cheery lighting in the lobby offset the gloom of the descending night outside, but did nothing for the mood of the man who was apparently attempting to burn a hole in said sign with just the power of his glare.

He considered for a fraction of a moment, in a flash of the rebellious spirit that had defined his youth, just turning around and walking out. But it would be to no avail. He knew he'd be back, so what was the point of delaying the inevitable? His friends had been hammering at him to go for ages… (and once again he found himself amazed that he still even had some friends, considering…) especially since that fiasco with Catherine (Katerina? Caroline?). He knew without them telling him that he was damned lucky she hadn't pressed charges, damned lucky that the only injuries she'd suffered were the finger marks he'd left on her arms.

Even then, there had been a niggling thought, delicately scraping away in the back of his mind that he was out of control, but hell if he was going to admit he had a problem. Never mind that he was unable to sustain a romantic relationship for long, or that most of the people he worked with gave him a very wide berth. Unfortunately, it took a series of events happening in quick succession to bring him to the point that he was ready to admit that Draco Malfoy was not the "in-control bloke" he thought he was.

Actually, it took the trip to St. Mungo's for treatment for his completely shattered hand, to be specific. It wasn't until he was sitting in an exam room, in excruciating pain, waiting for an interminably long time for the Healer to come and mend his bones that he began to really examine his life and the explosions of anger that seemed to mark the passing of time for him. This was how he discovered that introspection, deep gut-wrenching introspection, took one's mind off of pain.

Since it was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement's office door he had put his fist through, he was now on administrative leave, and he could not return to work until he'd completed a third of the Anger Management Class. "Damn it, Malfoy," Kingsley Shacklebolt had thundered as he tossed Draco's employee file across the desk, "you're my best man in magical forensics, but you have enough 'incidences' here in your file to rival the rap sheets of our repeat offenders! I'm forced to put you on leave for one month. Prove to me you are getting yourself some help, for Merlin's sake. We need you here." Shacklebolt had glared at him through the hole in his door as Draco left.

He turned abruptly from the sign and made his way down the hall. He had no choice; he had to go through with it. Twelve sessions. Once a week for twelve weeks. Three months of—

_Hello. _

Draco was not the earliest arrival it seemed. As he entered the classroom from the door in the back, he saw a woman sitting in the middle of the classroom, her back to him. Draco's eyes widened in appreciation; she was well dressed, and a thick plait of rich brown hair had been twisted into a knot at the base of her skull. Her neck was slender and fair, her right leg was crossed over the left showing off a navy blue pump and a shapely calf above it. Her head was bent over the book she was reading.

Sitting in the middle was a rather strategic maneuver, Draco thought; sitting in the back row or in the very front tended to draw attention to oneself, but people in the middle seemed to blend into each other when one looked out over a room. Draco decided to emulate his classmate's strategy, but instead of sitting next to her, he chose the seat directly behind her. He wasn't in the mood to make small talk as they waited for the rest of the class to arrive, but he suspected that later on he would appreciate being able to rest his eyes on her pleasing form, especially if the class proved as boring as he suspected it would.

He'd already flipped open his copy of the evening edition of the _Daily Prophet_ by the time the brunette even registered someone had taken the seat behind her, so when she turned, she was met with the latest headlines. Taking the hint, she shrugged and returned to her book.

Punctuality was a hallmark of Hermione Granger. She hated being late, so she always left early for any appointment, and allowed herself plenty of time to get to places she hadn't been before. She professed that the reason for this was simple common courtesy; tardiness was a sign of disrespect, a statement that one did not value the other person's time. Harry said that really, extreme punctuality was her way of trying to exert control over her situation. Hermione wondered if Harry knew what an ass he sounded like when he was spouting psychobabble. What did he know? The prat! Well, he _was_ the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's top profiler, which meant he'd studied criminal psychology, but that hardly pertained to Hermione!

Of course, Harry had also pointed out that she was slowly becoming isolated from her friends, and it was only the dedicated few who stuck by her now, due to her "moody temperament" which was Harry's polite code phrase he used in public. In private, he called it her "bitter bitchiness" or "BB" for short. The sodding git. And was it really necessary for him to point out that the BB was probably the reason she ran through boyfriends like water ran through pantyhose?

It wasn't until the complete blow-out with Ginny that Hermione was willing to admit that Harry might be right. Hermione had been in serious danger of losing her only remaining girl friend, so one Kleenex box and three pints of Ben & Jerry's later, she had swallowed her pride, flooed Ginny and asked for the information about the anger management class Ginny had been nagging her to attend for the last year and a half. Ginny had hugged her. When she'd told Harry she had signed up for the class, he'd hugged her too, and told her he was glad because "I just don't want to keep watching my Hermione slipping away anymore." That had made her cry. She hated to cry; it felt too unnerving, being so out of control like that. Damn him for making her cry.

So here she was, in an over-lit library classroom that was rapidly filling with people who were quite likely ticking time bombs of repressed anger like herself. She snorted; she sounded like an ass when she spouted psychobabble, too.

A flurry of activity at the front of the classroom indicated the instructor had arrived; the witch in green healer's robes began to unpack a satchel. Hermione heard the rustle of a newspaper being folded behind her followed by a rich, cultured, sotto voice, "Thus begins what will be the most boring two hours of my life."

Hermione chuckled as she put away her book, and turned around to smile at her classmate who was apparently reading her mind. "Legilimency without eye contact is quite a skill to have, but you read my…" Her mouth dropped open in recognition as she realized just who it was sitting behind her. "Oh my…"

Draco smirked, and to Hermione's surprise, his eyes lit up with amusement and not malice. "I think I need to amend my last statement. This class just got _very_ interesting!"

----- -----

Hermione moved with the rest of her classmates toward the door. She could see the tall, blond form of Malfoy up ahead. When she finally exited the library doors, she noticed he was standing on the steps, making no move to leave while the rest of the attendees were scurrying off or Apparating. She stepped closer to him. "Aren't you going home?" she asked.

He turned to look at her. "I'm not sure," he replied. "Don't feel much like going home yet. I was thinking of maybe going to get a cup of coffee."

"Oh." To be honest, she didn't feel much like going home to her empty flat, either. Still… she had to get up and go to work tomorrow… "Well, goodnight, then," she said politely. "I suppose I will see you next week." She turned to go.

"Would you care to join me, Granger?" he called after her. He wasn't exactly sure why he did, except that she had seemed a little reluctant to go home, too. He hadn't expected to know anyone in the class, and granted, he and Granger didn't have the best history together… but she had been a familiar face and somehow he'd felt a little less, well, less lonely when he'd realized it was her sitting in front of him. Besides, if the smartest, most-together girl in his class at Hogwarts was stuck sitting in this god-forsaken anger management class, then maybe _he_ wasn't as much of a failure as he was beginning to feel he was…

She turned back to him with a puzzled expression. "Join you?"

"Yes, join me. For coffee."

She looked skeptical. "This late at night?"

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her. "They do make coffee without the caffeine, you know." He was sure now that she wouldn't take him up on the offer, and he really couldn't blame her. After all, who would want to have coffee with the person who was an insufferable prat all through their secondary education days?

She studied him a few seconds longer. "All right. Where do you suggest?"

Draco blinked in surprise. "Well, there is a quaint little shop up here a ways on Eatern Alley. They stay open late…" Did she really just agree to go with him?

_Did I really just agree to go with him?_ Hermione wondered. He pointed the way and politely took her elbow to help her across the street.

Soon Draco was holding the door open for her and gesturing her inside. "Thank you, Malfoy," she said as she stepped into something straight out of a Muggle movie. The shop reminded her of an old Fifties diner in décor and atmosphere. She half-expected a bubble-gum chewing teenaged waitress to glide over to them on roller skates, but instead they were greeted by a friendly older woman who told them to take whatever table they wanted. _If she tells us her name is 'Flo,' I will know that I've slipped into an alternate reality,_ Hermione thought to herself.

Draco led her to a booth near the back, out of sight from the widows, but with a view of the entrance. _It must be an Auror thing, _she mused. _Harry does the exact same thing in a restaurant. _Draco took her cloak and placed it carefully next to his on the booth bench. She slid into the booth across from him. The kindly woman came over. "What can I get you, dears?"

Draco made a point to look at her name tag. "Well, Flo, we'd each like a cup of coffee, decaffeinated, please." He looked at Hermione inquiringly to see if she agreed. She nodded, stifling a giggle. When the waitress had left, he asked, "What's so amusing?"

"Oh, it's this place," she looked around with a grin. "It really is quaint, as you said. It's quite cute." Her eyes landed on his face. His lips were turned up amusedly. "It's not really the kind of place I'd ever expect to see you in; it's so, well, Muggle." The words slipped out before she realized how they might sound to him. She was relieved to see that the expression on his face didn't change.

"One of the things they taught us in Auror training, Granger: don't be too predictable."

Flo returned with the coffee. "Cream or sugar, dears?"

"Cream for me, please," Hermione requested.

"I'll take mine black, thanks," Draco gave the waitress a charming smile.

They sipped for half a minute before Draco said, "So, I hear you're a barrister." Hermione nodded. "Working for the Ministry?"

She nodded again. "I'm helping draft new laws regarding Muggles and non-wizard magical folk," she explained. "I also do pro bono defense work on the side."

He pursed his lips. "I know how busy you must be, with the Ministry's big push to make up for years of under-representation and disregard of any non-wizard race." A look of irritation crossed his aristocratic features. "Those laws are just slapped on the books, without any regard as to how they will actually work in the real world. It creates nightmares for the DMLE, and then each problem is sent back to the Ministry for review, the law is deemed ineffective, and the process just has to start all over again. How many times, for example, have you people had to rewrite the Werewolf Act?"

"I suppose you feel that it's all a big waste of time? That there shouldn't be protections for non-wizard people at all?" she retorted hotly. "I should have known…"

"Granger, Granger, that's not what I meant!" Draco held out his hands apologetically. "I wasn't criticizing. Certainly we need laws for all type of folk. I was merely pointing out how inefficient the system is. It must get very frustrating for you."

She looked chagrined. "Oh." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I jumped down your throat like that."

He regarded her for a few moments as he sipped his coffee. "You're still easy to wind up, Granger."

She opened her mouth to deny it, but let out her breath instead. "Apparently I'm _too easy_ to wind up. At least, according to my friends. Which explains why I'm in that damned anger management class. They insisted I go," she said quietly.

"Ah," he acknowledged, nodding his head. They sipped in silence.

It was Hermione's turn to make small talk. "Harry tells me that you work in the forensics department…"

"Right." Draco wondered just how much Potter had told her about him.

"So, uh… why did you choose forensics?" she queried.

Draco shrugged, a little uncomfortably. "I have a hip injury that kept me from meeting the running requirements for a field officer… and I tend to be able to stomach magical autopsies and examination of corpses better than most."

Her brows were knit together in a puzzled frown. "But I seem to recall that in school you were quite—oh!" She clapped a hand over her mouth, rather aware that she was being insensitive…again.

Draco's visage darkened. "Quite what? Which word did you have in mind, Granger: wussy, wimpy, namby-pamby, milquetoast?"

"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I didn't mean…"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm himself. When he looked up, she was sitting with her hand still over her mouth, almost as if she was afraid what would come out if she let go. She looked quite comical. He snorted and raised an eyebrow sardonically. "I really don't think Miss Amelia Poster lists 'mention a childhood aversion to the sight of blood' as one of the ways to chat up an old school acquaintance in her latest edition of _Wizarding Etiquette for All Occasions_."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she dropped her gaze to the table to regain her composure. She took a deep breath and looked up at him again. "I have to apologize, Malfoy. Apparently I stopped reading the book before I got to that particular chapter." A hint of a smile played at her lips.

He clicked his tongue at her. "Granger." He shook his head sadly. "You are a terrible liar. Anyone who knows you even slightly would never believe that you would leave a book unfinished. It's inconceivable." His jaw twitched like he was trying not to smirk.

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled and said, "Touché, Malfoy."

Silence descended again, as the impudent expression slowly melted off his face. He wasn't sure what prompted him, but finally he said softly, "I saw enough things in the… uh, the… you know…" he faltered a moment, "enough to make the sight of blood the least of the things I could be squeamish about." He shrugged. "I guess I can just detach myself from it now." His eyes shifted quickly to hers, then back down to his coffee cup, as if he feared he'd said too much, or feared she'd ask him to explain.

All she said was, "Oh," very quietly. He heard the sympathy in her voice. They were treading dangerously close to deeply painful topics, and Hermione seemed to sense that, for she didn't say anything else.

"You know," said Draco, breaking the awkward tension, "they have a rather tasty selection of pie here. Would you like a slice?"

"Oh, no… I couldn't, really," Hermione declined.

Draco lifted his hand to wave over the waitress. "Have you any apple pie tonight, Flo?"

The older woman smiled indulgently. "Of course we do, dear. Warmed, or not? One slice or two?"

"One slice, warmed, please."

Hermione frowned. "Malfoy, I said I didn't…"

"Relax, Granger. This is for me." His eyes gave her the once-over. "Although I don't think one little slice is going to ruin your girlish figure."

"It has nothing to do with my figure, and everything to do with too much sugar keeping me up tonight. I have to work tomorrow, you know," she said, a little snappishly.

Draco shrugged. "I don't. I'm on administrative leave until I complete one month of this damnable class."

"Oh," Hermione cocked her head. "So what are you going to do with yourself, then?"

He lifted one shoulder elegantly. "I don't really know. Catch up on some reading, take a few walks, drink disgusting amounts of firewhiskey, visit a few friends…" Hermione's eyebrows shot up at his last comment. "What? You think I don't have friends?"

Hermione managed a reasonably innocent expression. "I didn't say anything!"

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Uh huh. Your eyes did." A small grin appeared. "You have very expressive eyes, you know." Hermione was obviously nonplussed. _Did I just say that? Where did that come from?_ Draco was glad that Flo chose that moment to place a warm piece of apple pie in front of him. He picked up his fork with alacrity and took a bite.

Hermione watched him eat, thinking that this all seemed rather surreal. Here she was, with Draco Malfoy of all people, and they were having a rational and mostly civil conversation! The situation was, suffice to say, a little awkward, in the way that first dates were awkward—

She stopped mid-thought. _Where in the world did **that** come from?_ She shook her head. "This evening is turning out nothing like I thought it would." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she'd spoken out loud.

Draco glanced at her. "I know what you mean. Just look at this," he waved his fork back and forth between them. "Who'd have ever thought that you and I would be here, together," and his eyes took on a little mischievous sparkle, "sharing a piece of pie." He pushed his plate toward her suggestively.

"Oh, all right." She picked up her fork and dug in. "Mmmm… you were right! This is delicious."

"You didn't believe me?"

She placed her hand over her heart. "I will never doubt again."

And they both laughed.

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**A/N: Well… there you have it. I anticipate it will be about 6 chapters, give or take a few. So if any of you fair readers enjoyed this story, or even if you did not, I would love to hear your opinions. And if any of you caught references to one of my favorite movies and can tell me which one it is, you will be listed in my hall of fame!**

**Review, review, review!**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Anger Management**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe. Any characters, street vendors, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, intriguingly named pubs, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR's works, well then you can safely assume they are mine.

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**

_Week 3_

Draco was waiting on the steps of the library after class. Hermione hesitated for a moment; was he waiting for her? Sure, they had gone out to coffee again after last week's class, but they weren't going to make a regular habit of it, were they? The thought of not winding down the night as pleasantly as they had the last two weeks left her with a slightly empty ache that she would have to analyze later, for Draco had asked her something.

"What?"

Draco glanced sideways at her and raised a brow. "I said: shall we make it a third time for good measure?"

Hermione smiled at him and noted, "The third time's the charm."

Once again, he gently took her elbow as they crossed the street. In no time, they were back at the quaint coffee shop.

"Hello, dears," Flo greeted them warmly, and waved them to their booth. She appeared moments later with two cups of coffee. "Decaf for you both," she smiled.

"Thanks, Flo," Hermione grinned at the kind woman, before glancing across the table at her companion. The look on his face could only be described as petulant. "What's gotten your knickers in a twist?" she asked him.

"I can not believe she gave us homework!" Draco fumed as he absently drummed his fingers against his coffee cup.

"Oh Malfoy, quit grousing! It will be a very helpful exercise, I'm sure!"

He eyed Hermione suspiciously. "You can't possibly be glad about this, can you, Granger? Because if you are, you are completely barmy."

She rolled her eyes at him as she stirred cream into her coffee. "Of course I'm not happy about this! As if I didn't have enough to do already, with work and all. I'm just saying, if I'm going to have to suffer the humiliation of being forced to go to this class, well, I might as well get something useful out of it."

Draco sipped his coffee and gave her a long, measured look over the rim of his cup. "It still amazes me that you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw."

She waved his comment aside. "Besides, it's not like it will be hard or anything. I can think of plenty of things that trigger my anger."

"Oh, so you think this will be easy, do you? All right," he challenged, "make your list."

"Fine! Waiting in slow-moving lines. Getting interrupted. When someone bumps into me and doesn't have the courtesy to say 'sorry.'"

Draco nodded in agreement. "Rudeness. Rudeness is definitely one for me."

Hermione's eyebrows rose and she snorted, but she continued, "I can't stand being condescended to. And when people try to get me to talk about the bloody war…" She stopped and glanced at him, aware she was once again moving toward a touchy topic. He merely continued to bob his head in concurrence with what she was saying.

Encouraged, she persisted, "I can't tolerate prejudice, thoughtlessness, husbands who cheat on their wives and vice-versa, cruelty to non-wizarding folk or animals. I am angry that there are orphans and widows, that women are expected to wear stockings, which are uncomfortable I feel I should point out, and that there will always be men who will think that I can't think for myself."

Draco was looking at her, one eyebrow lifted and a look of slight consternation on his face. "Is that it? Because, I don't think it would be healthy if you held anything back, Granger."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I am completely brassed off when I see shoddy workmanship or half-assed effort. And when, when…" She was distracted by the amusement she saw in his grey eyes. The look on his face was almost… affectionate. She lost track of what she was going to say next. "Uh, and, uh, by the demise of the adverb," she finished lamely.

"The what?" Draco's voice held a note of incredulity.

Hermione's cheeks pinked slightly. "The demise of the adverb… you know… the use of 'real' instead of 'really' as in 'You look real nice' instead of 'You look really nice.'"

Draco stared at her. "THAT is a hot-button for you? Misuse of adverbs?"

She looked a bit sheepish. "Well, it doesn't really make me fly off the handle so much as irritate me…"

"Oh, well in _that_ case, if we are going to get started on a list of _irritants_… I hope you have all week, Granger!"

Hermione grinned. "I hope you have all _month_, Malfoy!"

"Right. We'd best stick to the incendiary triggers, then… that way we'll be out of here by dawn."

* * *

_Week 4_

Hermione was getting ready for work when she remembered that her late meeting with the Assistant to the Minister of Magic was going to cut into her time to get dinner before her anger management class that night. _Better tuck a sandwich or something into your bag; you don't want to be late for your class, Hermione,_ she told herself. She looked into the mirror. Would it be such a terrible tragedy if she was late? _Well yes, silly. What would Malfoy think? _Her own wide eyes stared back at her. Since when did she care what Malfoy thought?

It's not as if, when they were leaving the coffee shop last week and she had said, "I'll see you next week, then," and Malfoy had answered, "I'm looking forward to it," she had gotten a sudden flutter in her stomach or anything.

"I did NOT feel fluttery!" she informed her reflection firmly.

And it wasn't like she'd been thinking about him at all this week. Oh no. Really, she hadn't.

After all, there were plenty of reasons why her concentration had been in tatters, and certainly a logical explanation for lapsing into daydreams whilst wearing a little smile during the staff meeting. The fact that the reasons and explanations eluded her at the moment was beside the point.

_You've been 'remembering him,' which is technically different than 'thinking of him,' Hermione. Thinking of him implies that you are entertaining thoughts of him, while remembering merely implies that thoughts of him are crossing your mind._

She was glad she wasn't arguing that line of reasoning in front of a judge, since she suspected it would seem rather flimsy under closer scrutiny.

Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool surface of her mirror. The truth was; images of him had been punctuating her waking moments all week. A smirk here, an eye-roll there, a sparkle of grey eyes as he chuckled… It was funny, but when the malice and spite that had characterized him in childhood were taken out of the equation, his repertoire of facial expressions was actually rather…nice.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Hermione, pull yourself together!" she admonished herself. "This is Malfoy we're talking about!"

She looked at herself in the mirror again. "Great!" she muttered, "I'm talking to myself now. Just bloody great."

----- -----

Draco glanced at the clock, more than a little concerned as there were only three minutes until class started. Where was she? Not that he was all _that_ concerned. Not really. After all, he had plenty of things he could choose to do after class if she didn't come. Right. Plenty of things.

His head swung around as the door opened, and there she was, flush-faced and breathless, with thirty seconds to spare. He gave a small wave to catch her eye, and jerked his chin toward the seat next to him that he'd placed his newspaper on. He was gratified to see her lips tilt into a smile as she mouthed "thanks" to him and made her way to the seat.

Draco glanced sideways at Hermione as the instructor began, and smiled to see that some curly strands of hair had escaped from the twist held in place with decorative pins, and he suspected, a well placed Coiffing Spell. Her pink face reflected her frustration at her lack of punctuality, although, technically she hadn't been late. However, he suspected that since she hadn't had her parchment and quill out _before_ the instructor had started speaking, Hermione considered herself very tardy indeed.

Flustered and off-balance was a good look on her, he decided. Maybe he would just help her wear it all evening.

Draco stood up and stretched when the class had ended. "Cutting it a little close, weren't you, Granger?" he remarked.

She blew a stray curl off her forehead in annoyance. "I had a late meeting. It couldn't be helped." She followed him as he moved for the door.

He stopped and gestured for her to precede him. "Did you even get a chance to have any dinner?" he asked.

Hermione rummaged through her satchel. "Not really, but I was prepared." She pulled out a plastic re-closable bag containing half of a ham sandwich that was looking squashed and rather worse for wear.

Draco reached for it with his thumb and forefinger and held up the bag, a grimace of distaste across his aristocratic features. "Merlin, what _was_ this?"

"That is a ham sandwich, and the other half of my dinner! Give it here, Malfoy. I'm still hungry… HEY!"

Draco had tossed the sandwich into the nearest rubbish bin as they exited the library. "Disgusting."

Hermione stopped on the steps, arms akimbo, and spluttered. "You just… you just… my dinner! How dare you? You just wasted perfectly good food!"

"Granger," Draco drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I was just watching out for you. It was probably spoiled, sitting in your bag all day. I'm surprised you don't have food poisoning from the first half you ate, for Merlin's sake."

"Well, _now_ what in the hell am I supposed to do?"

Draco took her elbow. "Come with me," he said, as if talking to a four-year-old who was having a tantrum, and he patted her hand.

Hermione dug her heels in and balked. "Where are we going?"

He rolled his eyes. "To get you something to eat, of course."

"But… but… the coffee shop is that way."

Draco was still using that infuriating tone. "This may come as a surprise, Granger, but other places serve coffee, too." He started to lead her down Diagon Alley.

Hermione angrily pulled her arm from his grip. "Stop treating me like I'm a child!"

Draco looked at her and heaved a sigh. "You don't deal well with an upset to your routine, do you?" he queried. "You have a late meeting, you miss your dinner, you get to class with only seconds to spare, and you are a mess."

"No," she said nastily, "I don't deal well with rude men who snatch my dinner away from me and throw it away when I explicitly requested it be returned to me!"

"You're right. It was appallingly boorish of me." He smiled when her mouth snapped shut in surprise. "Please allow me to make up for my gaffe by buying you a replacement." He gently took her arm again, and this time she made no protest. Draco walked her several blocks before he steered her toward a small wagon with a brightly colored canopy. "Do you like Greek?"

To Hermione's surprise, he stopped at the cart and looked at her hopefully. "You can't be serious," she demanded. He raised a puzzled brow at her. "You expect me to believe that you, Draco Malfoy, would eat a meal from a street vendor?"

Draco shrugged. "Why not? I happen to know the owner, and the food is tasty. Good for a meal on the run." There was a challenging glint in his eyes. "Don't be such a snob, Granger."

"Me? A snob? Oh that is rich, coming from you!" But the amused smirk on his face was contagious, and the smells coming from the wagon were delicious… She cocked her head at him. "Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to recommend an entrée to me?"

He grinned. "Do you like gyros?" She nodded. "Oy, Dimitri, two gyros please."

Draco led her to a bench where they sat and ate and watched the passersby. She had just finished her sandwich when he said, "Damn! I almost forgot. I'll be right back." He jogged back to the vendor wagon and ordered something else. Two steaming mugs were handed out to him. He set them down, and spoke to the vendor again, and this time was handed a small pitcher. Hermione watched as he added cream to one of the mugs, and stirred before handing the pitcher and spoon back. He walked carefully back to the bench, and offered her the mug. "Your coffee, my lady," he said with a flourish.

She took the mug and thanked him. She was surprised to find that her heart was beating a little fast. _He remembered how I take my coffee. _She sipped and smiled to herself. For all that he'd been an insufferable prat tonight, she had to admit that he knew how to be sweet when he put his mind to it.

* * *

_Week 5_

Draco was just muttering a magnifying charm over a piece of fiber he'd plucked off the corpse lying on the exam table when Dennis Creevey came in and politely knocked on the door. "I'm here to drag you out of the dungeons, Malfoy," he said pleasantly. "Potter is requesting you at a crime scene. Said it was the worst four weeks without you."

Draco glared at the short, mousy-haired, wiry man who was grinning like he'd just suggested they go to Hogsmeade and buy the entire supply of Droobles Gum at Honeydukes. He'd followed in his brother's footsteps and taken up the camera, and had found a niche in crime scene photography for the DMLE.

"I swear, Creevey, I'm beginning to think Potter has a thing for me or something." Draco scowled. "I suppose you are snapping today?"

Dennis held up his camera cheerily. "Yep. So put a cooling spell on the stiff already and let's get a move on." He held up a staple remover.

"That's our port-key?" Draco waved his wand over the corpse, and washed his hands. "What is that thing, anyway? It looks dangerous."

"I'll show you how it works some other time," the smaller man offered. "Ready?"

----- -----

The last tracer spell had been completed and Draco leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk, just in time to see Potter push his way gracelessly into the lab. "Well, Malfoy, I can see by the smug expression on your pointy face that you've got something for me."

"Oh, by all means, Scar-head, just waltz on in, with no regard to the delicate potions or charms work that could have potentially been going on in here," Draco retorted. He waved toward the Quick Notes Quill that was finishing the report he'd just dictated.

Harry picked up the parchment and grunted. "Perfect." He grinned at the blond man. "Thanks, Ferret. It's good to have you back."

Draco stood and snatched the report out of Harry's hand. "Let me make a copy of it, moron, before all your golden shininess destroys it." He pulled out a piece of Copying Parchment.

Harry leaned a hip against the desk. "A bunch of us are going out for drinks later… think you can make it?"

"Where and when?" Draco handed him the now-copied parchment.

"The Truculent Swan. In about an hour."

Draco took in a breath and let it out. He glanced at his watch. He'd have enough time for one drink before his class. "All right. I'll be there."

Harry paused at the door. "And just for the record, Malfoy; I do _not_ have a thing for you."

"It's just as well, Potter," Draco smirked obnoxiously. "I'm way out of your league, anyway!"

----- -----

"So, how does it feel to be back at work?" Hermione asked Draco as she stirred cream into her cup.

Draco grimaced. "Like I'd never left." He glanced up at her. "I was invited to drinks, so I must not be on anyone's shit-list anymore."

She lifted her coffee cup in salute and said cheekily, "Congratulations are in order, then!" Her impish smile made him grin in response. "And that explains why you were late."

"Late!" Draco almost choked on his coffee. "I had five minutes to spare! Unlike someone I know who barely skated under the wire with only thirty seconds to go last week." Hermione had the grace to blush. "And thanks for holding a seat for me, by the way," he added.

"You _should_ thank me, you know. I had to fight off at least three blokes before you came in."

Draco's expression darkened at this news. "That's because there are a number of men in that class who want to chat you up, and a seat next to you would have been a coup for them."

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm not being ridiculous," he said seriously. "In fact, I'll wager that the balding guy with the saturnine face was the most persistent."

Hermione glanced sharply at him. How had he known that? And why did he have that stormy look to his eyes? She laughed a bit nervously. "Well, I'll just have to give you points for use of a two-Galleon word like 'saturnine' in a sentence."

A full second passed before Draco's face creased into a smile. "How utterly generous of you," he intoned as he mimicked her salute earlier with his cup. "But I still am going to make damned sure to get there earlier to claim my seat!"

Hermione wasn't sure why such a statement should bring about that fluttery feeling in her stomach, or increase her pulse rate, for that matter. She nearly missed what Draco said next.

"You seem to be in a chipper mood this evening, Granger. What gives?"

Hermione leaned back into the booth in the quaint coffee shop they had returned to and smirked. "Oh, only a small victory at the office today," she replied airily.

"Really?" Draco asked with interest. "Do tell."

"I have successfully lobbied for a representative from the DMLE to be present at all sessions in which laws are being drafted to provide consultation on the feasibility of implementing the laws practically," she explained proudly. "My boss thought the idea was brilliant." She glanced slyly at him. "And I have you to thank for it."

Draco's brows knitted together. "How is that?"

"The first time we came here. You said that the laws were made without any consideration on how they would be enforced in the real world. That's what gave me the idea that we should collaborate with the DMLE and save everyone a lot of trouble. So thank you."

"This calls for celebration!" Draco grinned. "Shall we split a slice of pie?"

Hermione grinned back. "Like hell I will! If I'm going to celebrate, then I'm having a whole piece all to myself!"

Draco inclined his head to her before he waved over the waitress. "As you wish," he said gallantly.

* * *

**A/N: Well, it took a little longer than I'd hoped to get this next chapter up, but that's what a week long trip counseling at camp will do to you. I have to credit my dear friend SunnyJune for the idea of Harry and Draco working together in law enforcement. I lifted it from her wonderfully fluffy story "Masquerade" which I recommend. Actually, I recommend all of her work highly.**

**I would LOVE to hear your thoughts and comments on this chapter! Please, please, PUH-LEEZE use that review button. I will adore you greatly!**

**The fabulous people who earned my adoration for reviewing Chapter One are: Lorett (of course!), SJ, Sunflower Fortunato, perfectedhell, mouse, Saltwater-Taffy, rainsrabble, Ally, and SiriusRulez. Kisses to you all!**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Anger Management **

**Chapter Three**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe. I do own a new car, but that is beside the point. Any characters, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, sporting events, forensic potions, art galleries, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR's works, well then you can safely assume they are mine. **

----- ----- ------ - -oOo- - ----- ----- -----

_Week 6_

Hermione glanced at Draco worriedly as he lingered in his seat even after class had ended. She took in the dark circles under his eyes and his slouched posture. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked him.

Draco looked up into concerned brown eyes and felt his heart give a lurch. That look… so like an image in his mind that could have been a memory, or maybe just a dream… _brown eyes; the last thing I saw that day… the day that ended it all… _

"Draco?" her voice was tinged with unease.

He blinked. It had been a long time since he'd thought of… He felt her hand on his shoulder and smiled at her weakly. "Sorry. Just a bit knackered; big case at the DMLE has got me working overtime." He leaned back in the seat, spread his arms wide and let out a huge yawn. Draco snapped his mouth shut as soon as he opened his eyes and realized that Hermione was staring at him. "What?"

A hint of pink touched Hermione's cheeks when she realized that what she'd been doing may have been construed by a bystander as ogling. "Oh, nothing," she stammered. Then her brain seemed to remember that she was a sharp-witted lawyer who made her living by thinking quickly on her feet. She grinned. "Except that _that_ was the finest example of pandiculation I've seen in a long while."

_Pandiculation,_ he mouthed silently. He cocked his head. "Do you hoity-toity barristers get paid more for using the fancy words, Granger?" he asked cheekily.

"Naturally," she replied, her smile making her eyes crinkle. "So come on now," she tapped his shoulder, "on your feet, sleepyhead. You're coming with me."

Draco smiled to himself at her bossy handling, heaved himself to his feet, and followed her out of the library. "Granger, are you kidnapping me?" he asked when they'd reached the steps.

She turned a conspiratorial grin on him. "I prefer to call it 'intervention via abduction,' Malfoy."

He raised his brows at this. "What, pray tell, is going on in that swotty head of yours?" he demanded.

"You've obviously spent way too much time at work, Malfoy. I think you need a change of scenery." She hooked her arm in his and began walking him to an Apparition station.

Draco didn't mind playing along as she dangled her intentions tantalizingly in front of him. "All right, I'll bite. What kind of a change in scenery do you have in mind?"

"Well, I'm a little bit hungry for something light, so I'm taking you to my favorite sushi joint."

Draco almost missed a step. "You're taking me to a Muggle place, aren't you?"

She laughed at his skeptical expression. "Don't be such a snob, Malfoy," she jibed.

----- ----- ------ - -oOo- - ----- ----- -----

_Week 7_

"Malfoy."

"Not now, Scar-head. Can't you see I'm busy?" Draco turned the page of his Quidditch magazine. A Toxicity Assay Potion roiled away in a cauldron near-by. By the color of the smoke, it had a few more minutes before he could run his tests.

Harry snorted as he took in the blond man's appearance: feet up on the desk, robes draped over the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, magazine in hand. "Yeah. It's a real crap job you have down here, isn't it, Ferret?" he said with a grin.

Draco snapped the magazine down in exasperation. "For the love of Merlin, Potter, I should arrest you for your cold-blooded murder of adverbs!" Draco's brows knit together in a frown; something about those words reminded him of fiery brown eyes flashing in annoyance…

"…thinking of knocking back a few at that pub again, if you're interested," Harry was saying.

Draco pulled himself from the image of ringlets of brown curls straying from a neat bun on a shapely neck… "Sorry, didn't catch that."

Harry tossed him a funny look. "Drinks. Truculent Swan. Like a few weeks ago," he spelled out as if talking to an imbecile.

Draco shook his head to clear it. "Oh." He thought about Hermione trying to save a seat for him again, and in his mind's eye all the men in the class were circling her like vultures. "Sorry. Can't." At Harry's quizzical expression he added, "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, Golden Boy, but tonight's actually not a good night for me." He absently thumbed the pages of the magazine. "I have somewhere I need to be."

Harry smirked wickedly. "Well, Ferret, that's really too bad. Melinda MacIntyre will be disappointed, I'm sure."

Draco shot him a look of alarm. "You mean Maneater Melinda?" At Harry's fiendish nod of delight, Draco threw his legs off his desk, stood up and advanced on him. "What did you tell her, Potter?" he growled menacingly.

Harry stood his ground, arms across his chest, and laughed. "Jays, Malfoy, you're still a conceited git. What makes you think that the topic of _you_ would even come up during a chat with Melinda?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Funny, Potter. That is, until I remembered that there is no way you'd ever have the balls to chat up Melinda in the first place!"

Harry cocked an eyebrow in return. "Balls or no, you are going to spend the rest of the week wondering if I'm yanking your chain," and he smirked evilly, "…or not."

The Toxicity Assay Potion started issuing yellow smoke. Draco waved Harry out of the lab distractedly. "Right, right. I'd love to continue this riveting conversation, Potter, but unlike your lazy arse, I have a job to do here."

Harry laughed good-naturedly and turned to leave. "Well, I'll see you Saturday morning then."

----- -----

Strolling up Eatern Alley arm in arm seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do with Hermione Granger. Draco snorted to himself. If someone had told him a month and a half ago that this is where he'd be and who he'd be with… he'd have had that person locked up on St. Mungo's Psychiatric floor. And yet, here he was, enjoying her company, and he was forced to admit that he enjoyed thinking of her the rest of the time as well.

Hermione interrupted his musings. "A knut for your thoughts?"

He lifted an eyebrow in mock-hauteur. "Please, Granger, don't be insulting. I'll have you know that my thoughts are worth much more than that."

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled. "Oh, my mistake. How much do you suggest I offer, then?"

"My thoughts are priceless." He ignored her derisive snort. "But I'm feeling generous tonight, my dear."

"Oh really? So what will it cost me for these brilliant thoughts of yours?"

"Just an hour of your company and a piece of pie," and he punctuated his negotiation with a flourish and a bow.

Hermione chuckled as Draco opened the door to their favorite shop.

----- -----

Hermione pushed the plate of pie (today's special: blueberry) across the table toward Draco. "Here, you can finish it off. I can't eat another bite!"

Draco glanced at her in thanks, and saw a crumb just at the edge of her lip. "You have a…" he pointed to her face, and then touched his own, "you have a crumb, right there."

"Oh!" She grabbed a paper serviette and tried to wipe it away.

"No, you missed it," he informed her. "Here, let me…" He took the serviette from her and leaned forward to wipe the spot on her lip gently. "There, got it." He smiled.

Hermione smiled back shyly. "Um, thanks." She felt her face grow warm, and apparently her heart had elected to take up clogging as a new hobby. She decided that this was a good sign; after all, she'd always enjoyed Irish dancing…

She studied him as he dove back into the pie, and somehow found her nerve to broach the question she'd been hoping to ask. "Listen, I was wondering…" He looked up, brows raised inquiringly. "Would you be interested in attending a gallery showing on Saturday? It's a fundraiser for an advocacy group I do pro bono work for; proceeds fund legal expenses for anti-discrimination lawsuits." She looked at him hopefully.

That she was inviting him to such a function spoke volumes of how much she'd accepted that he had matured from a bigoted snot-nosed kid. And, Draco realized, quite likely indicated that she had put aside that image of him from her conscious thoughts. He smiled, pleased at the invitation. "I'd love to. What time?"

The delighted expression on her face lit her eyes, and her cheeks seemed to pink with pleasure. Draco found himself hoping she'd ask him to more fundraisers in the future, just so he could say yes again.

"Well, it runs from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon, but Ginny and I were going in the morning."

Disappointment flickered in Draco's eyes. "Damn. I'm sorry, Hermione, but I've got a prior commitment in the morning. I won't be available till around one o'clock."

Hermione quirked her lips in thought. "Well, I suppose I could stop by again in the afternoon. I really don't mind. The gallery is beautiful, and I love to wander through it. It's at the Palacio de Cosas Hermosas. Have you heard of it?"

"The Palace of Beautiful Things," he translated, "Yes, I've heard of it. Shall I plan to stop by at one-thirty then?"

She ginned in satisfaction, "Brilliant."

----- ----- ------ - -oOo- - ----- ----- -----

_Saturday_

Hermione was not used to seeing so many children on broomsticks, and it made her nervous. She instinctively ducked her head. Ginny laughed beside her. "You'll get used to it, Hermione. I've been to quite a few of these events in the past, and I've never had my head knocked off yet."

Hermione glanced sourly at her friend and reflected on the circumstances that had led her here.

_Hermione stood up from her kitchen table and walked into her living room when she heard the sound of someone flooing her. "Oh, hullo, Gin. What's going on?"_

"_Well, I won't be able to go to the gallery in the morning Saturday after all," Ginny began, and she stepped into the room. "I have to make a public relations appearance at the Pee-Wee Quidditch Regional Semi-Finals in the morning." _

_Hermione eyed her friend. Ginny was the most popular player on the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team; her flame-haired good looks, fiery temperament, brilliant flying and overall modesty were lauded even by die-hard fans of other teams. Which meant the best Chaser the Cannons had had in years was quite in demand. It was a testament to Ginny's character that she made it a point to go to the appearances for upstanding or charitable causes. _

"_I'm so sorry, Mione," Ginny was saying. "But maybe we could go in the afternoon, before it ends? You know that I want to support you and the things you believe in…" She trailed off as she saw Hermione's mouth stretch into a grin. "Hermione?" she said, baffled, "did you hear anything I said?"_

_Hermione gave her friend a big hug. "Oh Gin, this is perfect!"_

"_Okay… not the response I expected," Ginny said slowly, "but I prefer this to you getting angry at me!" She hugged back. "And I have a splendid idea! You come with me in the morning, and we'll have lunch together before we go to the gallery." _

Ginny tugged at her elbow, leading her to the stands, and said, "There will be three matches, each a different age group. The youngest will be first. Oh, look, I see Harry!" Ginny waved madly to catch his attention.

Hermione had to grin at the sight of Harry in his coach's uniform walking smilingly over to them. She knew that a number of Aurors and other employees of the DMLE coached Pee-Wee Quidditch as part of their service to the wizarding community.

"Nice disguise," Harry commented at Ginny's long dark coat and knitted cap that effectively covered her conspicuous orange Cannons uniform and equally conspicuous hair. He turned to Hermione. "And thanks for wearing red to support the Fulham Falcons today!" He gestured toward the group of seven- and eight-year-olds in red and white uniforms who appeared to be engrossed in trading sports cards at the moment. "I think we have a fair shot at making it to the Finals," he informed the girls proudly.

----- -----

The opening ceremonies had begun, and Draco watched as the youngest Weasley made an opening speech praising the qualities of Britain's Pee-Wee Quidditch program, commending the coaches for their selfless dedication of their time and talents, and blah, blah, blah. Not that he didn't agree with what the Weaselette had to say; he would just prefer to get on with it. There was nothing like watching Quidditch being played, even if the teams were pint-sized. Since he was supposed to be a good role model, he tried not to fidget through the speech.

To pass the time, he studied Ginny Weasley. She'd grown up to be quite a lovely woman and was a charismatic public personality. Too bad the Chudley Cannons uniform clashed so glaringly with her fiery red hair. His eyes traveled to the black arm-band that was a permanent part of her uniform and part of her legend; she wore it to honor the memory of her fallen brother, just as she had pursued a career with the Cannons in his name.

Draco had to tear his eyes away; that arm-band caused too many memories to forcibly enter his mind. He would not think of brilliantly red hair and sickeningly green light—

"Coach?"

Draco's eyes snapped open to the sight of eager nine- to eleven-year-old faces.

"Look at what they've given out to all the players!" Michaela Connelly said excitedly, thrusting a card towards Draco's face. "And we can have Weasley sign it after the match!"

Draco admired the Cannons trading card as expected before gathering them in. "All right, you lot. I know you have the longest to wait to play your match, but you _are_ the oldest. The little ones are watching how you behave. Besides, most of you have younger brothers or sisters playing in the first two matches, so I expect you to cheer them on and show some respect. Do you know why?"

"Because we're the Hornets!" said Michaela and her teammates readily.

"And?"

"We are the Hornets: we sting our opponents, but we respect our mates!"

Draco nodded his approval.

"Besides, those six-n-unders are so damned cute!" added Michaela cheekily.

"Language, Connelly!" Draco wagged a finger at her sternly while trying to suppress a smile.

----- -----

Hermione had been amazed at how well the five- and six-year-olds played. She couldn't remember ever being that coordinated in kindergarten. And she had been thrilled at the middle match, which had been close before the Falcons' seeker had caught the Snitch and secured Fulham's slot in the Finals. Harry had sent his ecstatic kids to sit with their parents and joined Ginny and Hermione. "So what did you think?" he asked her.

"Oh, Harry, it was brilliant!" Hermione's eyes sparkled. "It was thrilling, like being at Hogwarts again and watching…"

Hermione trailed off, distracted. The final match had just been announced ("The Hoxton Hornets versus the Kensington Heights Knights"), and the coaches had met in the center of the pitch to shake hands. One of the coaches had tell-tale pale blond hair…

Hermione rounded on Harry. "You never told me that Malfoy coached Pee-Wee Quidditch, too!"

Harry looked genuinely confused. "I've never told you anything about Malfoy, Hermione. It's not like he ever comes up in our conversations you know."

"He doesn't?" Hermione found that strange, considering that Malfoy seemed to be the topic of much conversation between her and her inner voice lately.

"Hermione, are you feeling all right?" Harry peered at her anxiously before glancing at Ginny questioningly. Ginny shrugged.

Hermione didn't answer. She sat, engrossed, through the entire final match as the rest of her preconceived notions of Draco Malfoy were shot down like Chasers hit by rogue Bludgers.

----- -----

Draco stood at the edge of the pitch as screaming athletes and their pleased parents surrounded him, a satisfied and triumphant grin on his face. The match had been long and he'd been able to rotate all his players through, and they'd done him proud. The Hornets were going to the Finals.

Eventually, he shooed the kids toward the center of the pitch where the Cannons star Chaser was signing autographs, grinning as they chanted, "Hox-ton Hor-nets! Hox-ton Hor-nets!" all the way there. He glanced at his watch. He'd have to leave soon if he was to get cleaned up and make it to the gallery on time. As he hurried past the stands, he heard his name, and turned.

Potter was leaning over the rail, hand outstretched. "Your Hornets were looking bloody brilliant out there today, Ferret."

Draco stepped toward him and smacked his hand into a strong handshake. "And your Falcons tore up the pitch themselves, I daresay, Scar-head," he replied amicably. "My only regret is that this means I will have to see your ugly mug again _next_ Saturday."

Harry released his hand and smirked. "I know. It's amazing what we are willing to put up with for the sake of these kids, isn't it?"

But Draco was no longer listening. His attention was arrested by a face surrounded by tousled brown curls held back with a red headband that matched a red jumper… And of all the things that he could have thought, should have thought, in that moment, he was almost annoyed that the one that came to mind first was: _Guess Granger is going to be late to the gallery, too._

Harry's gaze shifted back and forth several times between his friend and his co-worker.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

"So, Pee-Wee Quidditch, huh?"

Draco shrugged gracefully. "Just my way of contributing to society, Granger; you know, molding young minds and bodies into future athletes and model citizens."

"You. Molding young children. The thought terrifies me."

Draco jerked a thumb in Harry's direction. "Well someone needs to be a role model of refinement and social graces when we've got the likes of Potter here doing most of the coaching."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "This from the man who puts ketchup on his sushi."

Harry interrupted testily, "Excuse me. Did I miss something here?"

----- ----- ------ - -oOo- - ----- ----- -----

_Week 8_

Hermione's eyes drifted across the booth to take in the blond who was relaxed into the seat, a smug tilt to his lips. "What's that look for?" she wondered.

He flicked his grey eyes, full of mischief, to her face. "Just fondly remembering the expressions on Scar-head's and the Weaselette's faces last Saturday."

Hermione giggled into her coffee. "I know. You'd have thought they were accusing us of having some torrid affair or something." The awkward silence from across the booth caused Hermione to pink. "I mean, the way they carried on about it," she added hastily.

Draco cleared his throat. "You know, I could see those two thinking that something as banal as having coffee and a bite to eat was torrid."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't read more into her comment than she'd meant. She hadn't meant anything, really, had she? She took a deep breath to regain her equilibrium. She sipped her coffee for a few moments.

Finally, her sense of humor took pity on her hammering heart and roiling emotions and engaged her mouth. "Well, I suppose your passion for pie could be considered rather licentious," she said, grinning wickedly.

"Ha! That from the hussy who can't keep her fork off my plate!" he accused laughingly.

She wriggled her eyebrows and scooped up a large bite of key lime with her fork. "You know you love it," she purred coyly.

His eyes followed the path of the fork from his plate to her mouth before meeting her eyes. He felt a strange twinge in his chest. "Actually, I enjoy the company even more than I do sharing my pie," he said softly, never letting his gaze waver.

She blushed deeply and dropped her eyes as she chewed and swallowed. When she'd regained her composure, she looked at him again. "I suppose that means we'll be doing this again next week?"

Draco let his brows come together. "Sweet Merlin, Hermione," he said, "maybe Potter and Weasley were right. Maybe the two of us are engaging in…" he paused dramatically before stage-whispering, "a torrid _habit_!"

Hermione's laugh rang out. Draco's laugh joined in as he scooped up another bite of pie and offered the fork to her.

----- ----- ------ - -oOo- - ----- ----- -----

**A/N: pandiculation: the act of stretching and yawning**

**That word is in there because of a little challenge Miss Lorett (the same damned-fabulous Lorett that I am writing this for) threw at me one day. I mean, come on. She practically double-dog-dared me to try to use it in a story. I HAD to put it into HER story, now didn't I?**

**A thousand thank-yous to all the wonderful people who left reviews! I hope this chapter did not disappoint. Please feel free to let me know if it did… or didn't. I crave reviews like Pee-Wee Quidditch players crave a genuine autographed Ginny Weasley Chudley Cannons trading card!**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Anger Management **

**Chapter Four**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe. Any characters, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, sporting events, great-nephews, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR's works, well then you can safely assume they are mine.

* * *

**

_Saturday_

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor had been restored to the glory of its heyday by Florean's great-nephew Fletcher and now stood as a proud jewel in Diagon Alley's crown. The younger Fortescue, accompanied by his eldest daughter and only son, was behind the counter, trying to keep up with the demand of hungry and victorious Pee-Wee Quidditch players. The uncle, whose name the establishment still bore, was relaxing on a chaise on a private beach on the Baja Peninsula of Mexico near Cabo San Lucas. At least, that's what Fletcher told Draco.

Today the shop was filled to overflowing with children still in their Quidditch robes and their parents. The air was thick with the cacophony of loud chatter, peals of girly laughter and sharp boyish shouts. Draco leaned back on his elbows against the counter and glanced out over the pandemonium to the front door. Where was Hermione? She said she was going to stop briefly at Flourish & Blott's and be at Fortescue's shortly.

"Coach Malfoy."

Draco turned and saw the parents of one of his young Chasers approaching, huge smiles on their faces.

----- -----

Hermione grinned as she pushed open the door and entered the mayhem of the ice cream parlor. Her eyes caught sight of an obviously proud platinum-haired coach who was chatting with some equally proud parents. _Platinum-haired?_ she thought to herself. _Since when do I revert to half-Sickle romance novel descriptions where Draco is concerned?_ Another thought hit her as she made her way to the back counter where he stood. _And for that matter, since when has he been 'Draco' in my mind and not 'Malfoy?' _

Draco smiled when he saw her, and excused himself from the conversation he'd been having. "There you are," he exclaimed as he took her arm. "I feared you heard the bedlam from the street and ran for your life." He turned her toward a table that appeared to be miraculously unoccupied.

Hermione assumed an indignant expression. "How dare you insult my bravery, Malfoy! I assure you, it would take more than a mere," her eyes circled the parlor and she pretended to do some calculations, "two thousand confection-crazed children to frighten me away!"

"You're a braver woman than I," he told her fervently.

Hermione laughed. "You're not a woman. Or is there something you wanted to confess to me today?" She smirked at him cheekily.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You know, I _was_ thinking of treating you to a hot fudge sundae, but now I'm not so sure you deserve one." He pulled out a chair for her to sit in.

"You're right," she agreed, "I deserve a sundae with hot fudge _and_ melted caramel on it!"

Draco playfully genuflected. "To hear is to obey, O Mistress!" He turned smartly and strode back to the service counter, Hermione's laughter trailing warmly behind him.

Hermione studied him covertly as he spoke to Fletcher Fortescue, and then waited for his order. She saw a child from his team approach with parents in tow to speak with him briefly. She watched as another parent got his attention as he was bringing the sundaes over to the table. As they ate, they were interrupted by various children with or without parents, and Hermione observed every moment of interaction intently. Draco seemed to genuinely enjoy coaching all those kids.

"I'm sorry we keep getting interrupted," Draco said as he turned back to her.

She shook her head. "I don't mind. You're here for your kids, not to entertain me." She grinned. "Besides, I _am_ being entertained." At his quizzically raised eyebrow, she explained, "You are the last person I ever thought I would be sitting here watching do this." She gestured around the room.

Michaela Connelly arrived at the table in a whirlwind of breathless energy and thrust an envelope at Draco. "Here, Coach, this is for you!"

Hermione leaned over in curiosity as Draco opened a handmade card. It was a cartoon of Draco on his broom, blowing a whistle and obviously in the middle of shouting instructions at a caricature of Michaela who was hanging upside down from her broom by her knees and holding a banana. The caption read: "Seat your broom properly! Don't hang on it like a monkey, Connelly!"

Draco roared with laughter.

"If I had a Galleon for every time you said that to me," she informed Draco cheekily, "I'd be taking a brand new Thunderbolt Racer to fly on when I go to Hogwarts in the fall."

"If you had a Galleon for every time I said that to you," Draco replied with feigned severity, "you'd have your broom and one for your little brother, too."

Michaela giggled. "He's coming up to the Hornets next season. He's gotten lots better this year."

"I know. Coach Potter has informed me."

The girl cocked her head and studied her coach. "So, are you going to miss me?" she asked artlessly.

Draco nodded his head slowly. "You'd better believe I am, Michaela," he said sincerely.

Michaela threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. When she released her stranglehold, her eyes met Hermione's. "Are you Coach's girlfriend?"

Hermione felt her cheeks grow pink. "Oh, well…"

"She's an old school chum and a very good friend of mine," Draco interrupted smoothly, and oddly, Hermione noted, splotches of pink were observable high on his cheeks. "Hermione Granger, meet Michaela Connelly; you'll find a picture of her in the dictionary under 'impudence.'"

Michaela stuck out her tongue at him before turning to Hermione once more. "It was nice to meet you. Bye!"

"Goodbye." Hermione was amused.

"Bye, Coach! I'll see you!" And the girl was off, leaving an unnatural stillness in her wake.

Hermione turned to Draco, who was grinning. "How many of them are on your team, again?" she asked, respect and awe coloring her voice.

"Eleven this year. And not all of them are as, er, vivacious as Michaela, thank Merlin. She has more energy than a barrel of kneazles, that one."

Hermione noted the pride and affection in his tone and on his face. "You truly like these kids, don't you?" she asked.

"Why do you sound so surprised, Granger?" Draco felt suddenly defensive. "Do you think I would do something like this if I didn't enjoy it? Or do you think that I'm trying to make up for past sins?"

"No! I don't think that…" she cast a glance sideways at him. "Er, _is_ that why you do it? Making up for past sins, I mean?"

He dropped his eyes to his empty bowl. "Maybe," he answered softly. "That probably has something to do with it…" He looked up at her again. "But I really do enjoy it; I like to think that I'm making some kind of difference in these children's lives."

Hermione nodded. Whether it was in understanding of his reasons, or in belief that he _was_ making a difference, Draco didn't know. He wished he could explain it better, but no one had ever asked him this before. The announcement had gone out at work that coaches were needed for Pee-Wee Quidditch, he'd signed up, he was given the oldest children to coach, end of story. He hadn't really put much thought into his motivations… until now, until she brought it up.

"Actually, what surprises me is how much patience you have with the children." Hermione reached out and touched his hand. "Most adults, even those who adore children, eventually get frustrated or aggravated with them. But I never saw that with you these last two weekends." She caught Draco's eye. "I watched you out there on the pitch, Draco. You were the picture of patience and restraint with those kiddos."

His mouth twisted sardonically. "And your point is?"

Her eyebrows came together. "My point is; I'm having trouble reconciling the man I saw out there these last two weeks with the man who supposedly has a problem controlling his temper."

At that moment, as if by some unspoken accord that could only be understood by parents of children who'd been exposed to too many sweets, chairs could be heard scraping the floor as families stood. Voices called for children, kids protested loudly, and the mayhem that had settled somewhat for a time was back in full force. The parents and children of Draco's team who had not yet stopped for words with the coach all gathered near. Hermione seized the two bowls and quietly slipped away to take them to the counter.

----- -----

When the last of the parents had shaken his hand and the last of his players had given him a high-five, Harry Potter scanned the interior of the ice cream shop for his friend. He had been secretly observing Hermione as she had talked with Malfoy because, after all, he'd only just found out last week that they had even struck up a friendship, and he wanted to see how they acted around each other when he and Ginny weren't present. He couldn't help it; it was the Auror in him.

Harry had come to some conclusions. One was he hadn't seen Hermione that relaxed and carefree in quite some time. Another was he missed seeing the smile she had on her face at that moment. Which led him to the most startling conclusion of all; this friendship thing that was going on with Malfoy was very good for Hermione.

He smiled as he walked up to her. "I suppose you've turned into a die-hard Pee-Wee fan now?" Harry commented as he gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Mmmm, yes. Especially when it involves all-you-can-eat ice cream binges after the match." She grinned as Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, then, I'm off for a long shower and a much deserved rest," Harry informed her with another peck on the cheek. "I'm glad you came to the match again. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Harry." Hermione watched him leave before turning her eyes on Draco again. He happened to be walking toward her.

"May I walk you to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione?" he asked with a gallant offer of his arm.

----- -----

Later that evening, Draco swirled a glass of firewhiskey and thought about what he'd told her as he walked her to the pub.

"_I was thinking about what you said earlier." She squeezed his arm gently. "I suppose, in a way, I took on the coaching position to redress some wrongs. After all, these kids had no choice about the War. They lost mums and dads, or both, or aunts and uncles. Some of them are fatherless, or being raised by grandparents, like Longbottom was… And it just doesn't seem right to lose patience or scream at them. They do try their best. They love to fly, and give you all they've got." He turned to her. "And who else in this world does that, Hermione? Not adults, not teenagers. We are all looking for ways to get out of doing our work… but not these kiddos. They just want to be there, and want to do their best…"_

_Hermione stopped walking and took his hands in hers. Brown eyes probed grey, and Draco got the impression that she was looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time. A sweet smile curved her lips. For all Draco knew, the rest of Diagon Alley had ceased to exist. He was falling into warm brown eyes, and felt his heart tap dance across his ribcage. _

"Damn it."

Draco drew some conclusions of his own. He enjoyed Hermione's company, very much. She was sharp-witted, intelligent, and had a sarcastic sense of humor like he did. Not only could she keep up with him in conversation, but she probably could out-pace him easily. She challenged him. She aggravated him. Seeing her after classes, or in this case, after the Quidditch match, always made him feel _good_.

And unless he did something to change it, the fact was in a few more weeks she would be out of his life again.

"Damn it," he muttered again as he tossed back the rest of the firewhiskey.

* * *

_Week 9_

Harry lifted his head from his paperwork when he felt the tension in the office go up. The blond man walking easily toward him was the object of much wary scrutiny; his reputation for being temperamental still preceded him. Harry acknowledged Draco's approach with the lift of his chin. "Malfoy, how nice of you to crawl out of the dungeons today and grace us with your presence," he smirked.

Draco raked his eyes over the haphazard disarray of Harry's desk with a look of disdain. "It's a wonder you get anything done in this pig-sty, Potter." He made a show of shoving a pile of papers aside before setting a dark-grey glass ball on the newly cleared spot. "I suspect you may find this interesting." Harry recognized the evidence storage device. "I'll explain what I've got for you in the Evidence Room."

Harry stood up and snatched the ball off the desk. "Lead the way."

Harry jotted down the last of his notes on Malfoy's explanation of the evidence, observing out of the corner of his eye that Draco was tipping the chair back and watching him covertly. Harry blew on the parchment to dry the ink before turning to Draco expectantly. "Well?" he asked, eyebrow quirked.

"I have a question for you."

Harry snorted to himself. Typical Malfoy— couldn't say, "May I ask you a question?" No, not Mr. I-have-to-be-in-control-of-everything. It had to be a demand, and not even an effort was made to couch it in polite tones. Because this was between Potter and Malfoy and they just didn't do polite around each other. Polite might lead to dropping their guards, which in turn might lead to delving beneath the superficiality of their interactions and one didn't have to go far down to encounter the baggage Harry carried and did not want to think about. If anyone understood that, it was Malfoy; his baggage shared a luggage trolley with Harry's. They would never, _ever_ voluntarily talk about _that day_, so their interactions were marked by almost amicable verbal jousting and nearly respectful arguing without rancor.

A set of fingers snapping in front of his face broke Harry out of his thoughts. "Potter, did you hear me?"

"Yeah, Malfoy, I heard you. What's on your mind?" Harry felt a touch of nervousness creep up his spine; the seriousness in Malfoy's tone made him wary. What was this about?

Draco brought the two front legs of his chair to rest on the floor again. He leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and looked at his loosely entwined hands contemplatively. He let out a sigh, and lifted his head to look Harry in the eye. "All right, there is no easy way to say this, so I'll just come out with it. What is the nature of your relationship with Granger?"

Ah. So that was it. Harry hid his smile. "Well, you see, Malfoy, I met her when I was eleven on the train to Hogwarts. She repaired my glasses for me, I helped save her from a troll, we got into various dangerous scrapes together… We've been best friends ever since." The corner of his mouth twitched. "I think all that time in the cellars breathing the fumes of your forensic potions had addled your brain, Ferret, for you not to remember any of that."

Draco frowned sourly and gave him a _you-think-you're-so-funny-but-you're-not_ look. "So if some bloke told you he was thinking of asking her out…" he said pointedly.

"I'd say, 'Good luck and God bless.'" Normally, Harry would have taken full advantage of the opportunity to taunt Malfoy to no end, but he remembered the look on Hermione's face as she talked to Draco at Fortescue's, and held his tongue.

Draco had been expecting more resistance. He narrowed his eyes and studied Harry. After all, didn't Potter know about his volatile reputation? If the situation was reversed, he'd tell Potter there was no way in hell he could ask Hermione out. What was he playing at? "I don't have a good track record when it comes to sustaining long term relationships with women," he tossed out, testing the waters further.

Harry nodded. "Well, neither does she. With men, I mean."

Draco leaned back into his chair, exasperated. "Well, that doesn't sound like a very auspicious start to any kind of successful relationship, does it?"

"Do I really have to point out to you that sometimes you have to date a number of people before you click with someone? And that sometimes the most unlikely people end up together?" Harry thought of Remus Lupin and Tonks fondly.

"So you're saying that you think that Hermione and I may have a chance?"

Harry tossed his hands into the air. "How the hell should I know, Ferret? I failed Divination, you know!"

Draco was thoroughly put out. "Tell me, Scar-head, what bloody good did that psychology degree do you, anyway?"

_Well, for one thing, it's helped keep me from wringing both your and Hermione's necks_, Harry thought to himself, but refrained from voicing out loud. He took a deep breath. "All I'm saying is; there's no way you can know for sure… unless you try."

Draco remained silent and stared across the room. Harry waited. Finally, the blond man let out a small grunt and stood up. He eyed Harry speculatively for a moment before a derisive look crossed his face. "Potter, you ponce, was _that_ all you could come up with? A fancy diploma hangs over your desk and all you can say is 'Go give it a try, Tiger!' Merlin, you are the _worst_ at giving advice about women."

Harry stood, too. "You puffed-up git! I never said I was any good at understanding women. I'll take an evil criminal mastermind any day of the week!"

Draco strode to the door and held it open for the other man. "If I'm to believe the latest research, there appears to be very little difference between the two!"

Harry chuckled as he passed out of the room. "Don't ever let Hermione hear you say that, mate, or you'll never get the chance to even try."

"Right. Another brilliant thought from Doctor Potter. Be sure to send me your bill."

"It's already being owled!" Harry tossed a grin over his shoulder at Draco's smirking face. "Good luck, Ferret-boy," he said cheerfully.

----- -----

"Draco! Did you even hear me?"

Draco looked up from the swirls of steam coming off his cup of coffee. He hadn't heard his companion, as a matter of fact; he'd been trying to analyze the very strange sensation he felt in his stomach as he contemplated the possibility of actually asking Granger—

"I asked you," Hermione informed him impatiently, "what you thought of the homework she gave us tonight."

He made an irritated wave with his hand. "Honestly? All of these assignments she gives us are just depressing. The only thing they've shown me is that I am damned good at bollixing up my life. What good is that? I want to know how to stop."

She thought that he had a good point. "So does this mean you are not going to do the homework assignment?"

"You do know that we aren't being graded on this, don't you? It's not like we are going to be taking Anger Management N.E.W.T.s, Hermione."

"Draco! You should do the homework!" she protested indignantly. "How do you expect to get the most out of this class if you don't do the homework? There is a purpose for every assignment she gives us."

"Fine." He grabbed a paper serviette, pulled out his wand, and conjured a quill. "What was the assignment again?"

"Pick a situation, describe the scenario, and make two lists: one of all the elements you have no control over, and one of all the elements you do."

"Piece of cake."

"Oh really? Let's hear it, then."

To Draco's horror, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Scenario: I ask Hermione to dinner." He did not see her eyes goggle in surprise, he was too busy panicking. _What the hell did I open my mouth for?_ Said mouth went dry. He swallowed. He took a sip of coffee. And another. Finally, his ego casually stepped in to save the day. _Come on, Draco. You know how to be a smooth talker. You can turn this to your advantage! _Confidence restored, _it's a good thing to know one's strengths_, he smirked.

"What I have control over… let's see." He tapped his chin with the feather from the quill. "I can make sure I look my best, which wouldn't take long of course." He heard Hermione make a small strangled-sounding snort. "I have control over how I word the invitation and where I do it, and I can also add elements to help tip the scales toward my success."

"Like what?" Hermione asked rather breathlessly.

"Well, for example, I could accompany the invitation with flowers. I can pester a friend for information on your favorite flower, in fact, to further improve my odds." Draco was beginning to enjoy this little exercise. He especially liked the expression of (dare he think it?) interest on Hermione's face. "I could pick a particularly enticing restaurant to pique your interest. I could find out what foods you like and don't like and your favorite wine. I could take your hand and look deeply into your eyes as I ask you…"

Hermione shook her head to clear it of the delightful images he was conjuring there. "Wait a minute. You still have another list to do."

Draco frowned. "Right. Things I don't have control over. Don't really like this part."

She smiled slightly. "I think that's one of the points of the activity," she said primly.

Draco took a breath and thought. "If there is a big piece of spinach or a poppy seed I don't know about stuck between my teeth."

Hermione huffed out a little laugh. "Of course you have control over that, silly. Just look in a mirror before you ask me!"

Draco grinned. "Oh, of course. Let's see… let's see… That I accidentally buy you gag flowers from the Twin Weasels' shop and you break out into hives when you smell them."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh come on. You're not even trying. This is supposed to be serious! And I rather suspect you'd never be caught dead with anything from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes."

"Actually, they have some things that are quite clever…"

"Draco," she said warningly, "you're stalling."

He took a deep breath. "You're right." He tapped the quill to his chin again. "I just don't like admitting there are things I can't control."

"I know what you mean," she agreed softly. They sat quietly for a few minutes.

Then Draco stiffened with resolve, and put the quill to the napkin. "Well, the biggest thing I can think of that I have no control over in this scenario, probably the only truly important thing, really," and he looked up and seized her attention with his grey eyes, "is whether or not you say 'yes.'"

Hermione suddenly found it hard to breathe. She was mesmerized by his compelling eyes, eyes that were asking for… what? What did he really want? "Draco," she said weakly.

He reached out and took her hand, never breaking eye contact with her. "Say 'yes,' Hermione," he coaxed in a husky voice.

"Draco, I…" She tore her eyes away from the intensity she saw in his, and looked down at her hand in his. _This is really happening._ Her heart was thudding haphazardly against her ribs. Her hand looked so good in his… She lifted her gaze to his once more.

"I'd love to," was her soft and slightly breathless reply.

* * *

**A/N: First, let me apologize for the hideous amount of time that has passed since my last post! A bit of RL and a fic exchange interfered. I'm sorry you had to wait so long for your next chappie, darling Lorett!**

**Second, let me say that the reviews have been so wonderful! I get all squooshy inside when I read them. I like feeling squooshy… if you get my drift… (hint hint)**

**Third, and I say this for the benefit of Lorett and anyone else who feels I'm being less than forthright about the events of the past… all will be made clear…eventually! Just not in this chapter.**

**Hugs to all my readers! Hugs and kisses to those who review, too!**

10


	5. Chapter 5

**Anger Management **

**Chapter Five**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe. Any characters, coffee shops, side streets off of Diagon Alley, upscale restaurants, benches, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR's works, well then you can safely assume they are mine. The author does not condone the adding of mushrooms on any type of pizza, but her lovely friend Lorett, for whom she is writing this story, happens to like pepperoni and mushroom pizza and so the fair author is making allowances in this case.

* * *

**

Blaise Zabini wasn't often caught off-guard, so it was with some amusement that Draco observed him standing in the living room of Draco's flat with his mouth open unflatteringly and a confused look on his handsome dark face.

"So where exactly did I lose you, mate?" Draco inquired.

Blaise snapped his mouth closed, glared down at the untouched drink in his hand and took a long swallow. "You've been attending these anger classes with Hermione Granger—as in Granger, the know-it-all bane of your secondary school existence—for over two months now, and you didn't _tell_ me?"

"Well," Draco sounded a bit defensive, "there was nothing to tell, really. Until now."

"Now that you've asked her out on a date," Blaise clarified.

"It's not really a _date_," Draco protested. "It's just dinner."

His friend fixed him with a look that was a mixture of pity and disgust. "Draco," he drawled, "this dinner isn't a date in the same way that shagging isn't copulation."

"If you aren't going to help me, you can just bugger off," Draco snarled petulantly.

"Ah." Blaise nodded knowingly. "So _this_ is why I'm finally hearing about it. What do you need, mate?"

"Reservations for two at La Maison d'Enchantement for Saturday."

* * *

_Saturday afternoon_

Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Chudley Cannons and occasional Emergency Fashion Consultant, was pawing through her friend's closet. "You always look great, Hermione. I don't see what you need me for! That dress is fantastic!" She peered over her shoulder at the woman standing in the middle of the room, gnawing on her thumbnail. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"What? Pssh! What rubbish!" Nervous? She wasn't nervous. It was just Malfoy, after all. It's not as if the thought of going to dinner with him—which could be argued that it really wasn't even a date—made her all fluttery in the stomach. She studied herself in the mirror. The fluttery feeling was probably from the cucumbers in her salad at lunch.

A concerned frown crossed Hermione's face. "Does this make my bum look big?"

Her red-headed friend threw her hands in the air. "For Merlin's sake! It's black! Black is very slimming! And besides, you don't even have a big bum." Ginny dove back into the closet and pulled out a beautifully embroidered jacket. "Put this on. It'll look smart."

"Oh, no, I can't." Hermione handed the jacket back matter-of-factly. "This jacket goes with that set I bought last fall--"

Ginny rolled her eyes and pushed the jacket back. "I'm not going to let you look like a hag, you know. You can trust me." She gestured for Hermione to comply.

The jacket looked absolutely smashing with the little black number Hermione was wearing. "See." Ginny's freckled face was smug. "You need to think outside the box, my friend."

"Ginny! I'm going out to dinner with _Draco Malfoy_. I think that qualifies as 'out of the box'!"

* * *

_Saturday night_

Draco Malfoy was used to things going a particular way for him. Sure, he didn't have a _huge_ fortune behind his name anymore, not after the… well, not after. But he still had his upbringing and manners and no small amount of class that paved the way before him and caused things to happen in certain ways that he had come to expect.

Until tonight.

Draco sat down on one of the ornate benches that peppered Diagon Alley and said, "I wouldn't blame you if you never spoke to me again." Hermione sat down next to him and crossed one high-heeled leg over the other, affording him a view of her shapely limb as he held his head in his hands.

His eyes traveled up that lovely leg to the hem of her little black dress, and right to the ugly white stain of cream of leek soup that marred her outfit from the hem all the way up to the dip of the bodice that showed a hint of décolleté. Of course, the white stain would have matched the lovely embroidery of silk ribbon roses on her jacket—that is, if the ones in the front and on the sleeve weren't now stained an orangey-red from a plate full of marinara sauce.

Draco groaned. How had it all gone so wrong?

"_What do you mean, 'There are no reservations under that name'?" Draco was turning a rather impressive shade of puce in anger._

"_I'm sorry, sir, I do not see it listed here. Perhaps there has been some mistake?"_

"_Never mind, Draco." Hermione placed a hand on his arm; he could feel the warmth through his robes. He studied the contrast of her pale fingers on his dark-blue sleeve, and calmed his breathing. "We can go to the Gold Room. It's just down the street," she suggested._

The Gold Room, at least, had the potential to rectify the disaster of the reservation fiasco; still upscale, good food, romantic ambiance. But no…

"_Oh no! Oh, madam, I am so sorry! I… oh, I'm so sorry…"_

_A gasp tore from Hermione's throat as hot cream of leek soup poured down her front and into her lap. She pushed away from the table and stood up, sputtering. The embarrassed waiter immediately grabbed a napkin and started sponging the soup off of her. Unfortunately, he started at her bosom._

"_Stop that," Draco said coldly. He snatched the napkin from the flustered man. "Cancel our dinner order and bring me the check, immediately!" he snapped. He turned to Hermione. "Here, let me do that." He dabbed away the soup as best he could, but it was too late._

_The restaurant manager arrived and implored them in his best obsequious manner to please stay, as dinner would be on the house to make up for the misfortune. Draco looked at Hermione, who nodded. "I'll just go to the ladies' room and try to clean up."_

_Hermione turned—and another waiter carrying a tray walked headlong into her. The pasta dish with the marinara sauce landed squarely on her shoulder and left sleeve and slithered dramatically down the front of her jacket._

_The manager and Draco could only look at her in stunned disbelief. A muscle twitched in Hermione's jaw. "Draco, please get me out of here. Now."_

"It's not your fault, Draco. I'm the one who suggested the Gold Room."

Draco turned his head in his hands and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Yes, but surely you were unaware of their new policy to hire only clumsy wait staff?" The corner of his lips turned up wryly as Hermione laughed. He lifted his head and leaned back on the bench. "This bears an uncanny resemblance to those scenarios from the anger management class: things we have control over, and things we don't."

Hermione snorted, and fingered the ruined embroidery on her sleeve. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I wonder if those classes aren't paying off a bit." Draco made a noise of disbelief. "No, really, don't look so skeptical. A few months ago, if that had happened, I would have blistered the ears of that manager and those waiters. But now—well, I think I handled it rather calmly."

"Granger, they could've heard your teeth grinding in Hong Kong." He smirked when she stuck out her tongue. "And you've torn all the beading off your clutch." He indicated her now sorry-looking handbag.

"Oh, like you were Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected back there at La Maison d'Enchantement!"

"I was! Normally I would have made an amazing scene, but tonight--"

"You got only mildly apoplectic?" Her face was guileless as she batted her eyelashes innocently.

It was Draco's turn to snort. "Still, you have to admit, it's an improvement for both of us."

She sighed. "I suppose you are right." She glanced at him slyly. "And since you put that nice spin on it, I'd say the evening has been a roaring success."

Draco groaned again. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, resting the side of his head against hers. "Ah, Hermione. I am so sorry. What can I do to make this up to you?"

Her pulse, which had been slowly calming after the Gold Room incident, inexplicably increased again. "Well, I can't really go anywhere like this." She gestured to her ruined clothes. On the other hand, she didn't really want the evening to end so soon. And she was still hungry.

Draco's stomach must have been reading her mind; it let out a loud rumble. He relaxed his grip on her shoulders and turned to her. "I'm not one to tempt Fate when she's obviously in a foul mood. How do you feel about getting some take-away and going back to your flat?"

Hermione smiled. "That sounds fantastic. I have a bottle of wine we can open, and I can get out of these clothes." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew how they must have sounded, and she blushed crimson.

His smile was devilish. "Really, Granger. I hadn't had you pegged as a 'get naked on the first date' kind of girl."

"Git!" She cuffed his shoulder. "Now, Malfoy, are you going to feed me, or are you just going to sit there and think lewd thoughts all evening?"

"You are an evil wench if you expect me to choose between the two."

She laughed and cuffed him again.

----- -----

"There's enough wine left for one more glass each." Draco raised the bottle to show her. "Shall we finish it off?"

She held up her glass to him. "Who knew a nice Merlot would go so well with pizza?" she laughed.

"Frankly, I was a little concerned that we would never decide what toppings to get. I mean honestly, who puts fresh basil and mushrooms on a pepperoni pizza?" His voice was teasing.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, who puts pepperoni on a mushroom and basil pizza? Not any normal person, that's for sure."

Draco let his eyes drift over her pink-tinged cheeks and cheeky smile. He wondered if the pepperoni hadn't been a bad idea; he'd had this funny feeling in his chest ever since they had sat on the couch to eat. "Are you impugning my taste in pizza?" he asked with feigned incredulity.

"Ha!" She pointed at him with her wine glass, almost sloshing some onto her jeans. "I suppose now you'll want me to pay you some Galleons for using a fancy word."

He turned on the couch to face her. "What can I say, Granger? You must be rubbing off on me." He grinned when she wrinkled her nose at him. She looked very appealing in her jeans and peasant blouse, with a wine-induced blush and mischievous smirk. His heartbeat seemed to be doing funny things, which wasn't helping that feeling in his ribcage any.

She turned on the couch, too, and rested her elbow on the back to prop her head. She sighed contentedly. "Dinner was delicious, Draco. Thank you."

He reached out and fingered one of her curls. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said softly. They sat there quietly, sipping wine, only the sound of the wireless in the background, until he finally said, "I'll help you clean up." Hermione was sure she heard regret on the edges of his voice.

He gathered up the empty bottle and glasses and followed her to the kitchen. She turned from the sink and found herself nose to button with his chest. He wrapped his arms around her to steady her, and she looked up at him. His eyes were very dark and amusement crinkled at the corners.

"I had a nice time tonight, Draco."

He laughed. "What a liar you are, Hermione."

"No, I really mean that." She smiled at him and moved almost imperceptibly closer.

Draco wondered idly if he should see a Healer or something; there was no reason for his heart to be flopping around like a landed fish, was there? "Does this mean you may want to do this again sometime?" His voice was husky and he inclined toward her slightly.

Hermione hadn't realized that Draco's voice could go so low. It made her legs feel a little wobbly. Unless that was the wine. She slid her hand to his shoulder to steady herself. "Well," she said softly, "if we go to a restaurant again, I'd like to try eating the food rather than wearing it." She tilted her chin up a little with a smile.

Draco's lips quirked into a grin. "What a novel idea, Miss Granger. We shall have to try that." His head leaned a bit to the side.

Her eyes were enchanted by his mouth. For some reason, her brain cells refused to formulate any clever words. "Mmm Hmm." She rose up on her tip-toes, steadying herself with her hands on his chest.

His eyes found hers as he bent his head forward. "Go out with me again, Hermione." It came out hoarsely and she felt his breath on her lips.

"I'd love to." Her mouth brushed his with her reply.

He tightened one arm around her while he slid the other hand into her hair at her temple. She smoothed her hands over his chest, up his neck and under the angles of his jaw. Their lips pressed together softly, tentatively, scintillatingly. Separation of a mere fraction of an inch allowed for sharp intake of breath before they met again. Now the kiss was more confident, given the familiarity of a few seconds' introduction the moment before. Convergence and separation, realignment of mouth upon mouth consumed them for… who knows how many moments? Time had ceased to exist for a while in Hermione's kitchen.

Eventually they both were breathless. Draco broke away and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. "I should probably go," he said softly. Hermione made a moue of disappointment, but she found it difficult to maintain the expression when he caressed her cheek.

"I suppose," she admitted with reluctance.

He grinned engagingly. "Before the roof caves in or anything."

Hermione laughed. "This _is_ the longest run of good luck we've had all night, isn't it?"

* * *

Hermione had done no small amount of thinking of Draco lately; not to mention visualizing, contemplating and even fantasizing about him. However, due to her busy week, she had had to confine such introspection to those brief and far-between moments interspersed among the frenzy of her life. Tonight, though, she would allow herself the luxury of indulging.

She lay back on her bed and grabbed a pillow to hug to her as her mind's eye lingered over Malfoy's face. It had filled out somewhat in maturity, not as pointy as it had been in school, especially around his mouth and jaw. That had been one of the first things she had noted when she'd seen him that first night in the anger management class. The last time she'd seen him before that, he still was rather ferret-y.

_The last time I saw him… he had been a mess_, she corrected herself. Unbidden, images insinuated into her mind.

-----

_Noise, screaming, mayhem, blood, smoke, fear… where is Harry? Where is Ron? _

"_There he is!" someone shouts, and she whirls to see Harry, bloody, damaged Harry, staggering as he supports another bloody, damaged, unrecognizable person. Actually, he drags the person, who obviously cannot use the mangled legs attached to his body anymore._

"_Sweet Merlin!" she hears. "How the hell can someone look like that and be alive?" _

_Hands help Harry set his burden down as he croaks, "The whole place is going up in flames. I couldn't leave him in there…"_

_Hermione watches in fascinated horror as grey eyes open and look right into hers. She can still hear Harry talking… "Tortured… told me where to find Voldemort… no one deserves this…" Tears fill her eyes. No one deserves this… not even Malfoy. Grey eyes roll to the back of his head and Hermione gasps, but someone in Healer's robes is shouldering her aside, even as Remus Lupin grabs Harry's arm and shakes it._

"_What of Voldemort, Harry?" Lupin rasps desperately._

"_Dead." Harry's eyes roll back, too, and he faints._

_Behind Hermione, Ginny's scream is like a knife on raw nerves. "Ron! Oh dear Merlin, no! Ron!" Hermione turns to see…_

-----

"NO!" Hermione sat bolt upright on her bed, shoving the pillow violently from her. She'd thought she'd successfully banished those memories from her mind! _I will not remember anymore. I refuse to remember. It hurts too much._

Apparently, her mind had other ideas. It drifted back to the image of Malfoy, mangled and bloody.

"_I have a hip injury…"_ Draco's voice echoed in her head, _"that kept me from meeting the running requirements for a field officer…"_ It was remarkable, really, that all he had to show for that horrible last battle was a bad hip, considering just how awful his injuries had been.

"_He was tortured,"_ Harry had told her later, _"for failing to kill Dumbledore."_ And when Harry and Ron had discovered him, chained to a wall in the grand hall of the country manor home that had served as Voldemort's headquarters, his pale forearm had been unmarred by any tattoo.

* * *

_Week 10_

Draco watched as Hermione slowly savored a bite of her peach pie. She hadn't said much this evening, and he wondered if she was regretting their ill-fated outing the weekend before. He banished the seditious thought, but not before it reached into his chest and squeezed his heart a little.

"You're rather quiet tonight," he ventured softly.

She regarded him with some surprise. "Hmmm? Oh, right." She smiled weakly. "I'm sorry I'm not grand company this evening, Draco. I've been rather--"

"Preoccupied?"

Her brows came together. "No, actually, not preoccupied. I'm just tired." She tilted her head and eyed him. "I haven't been sleeping well these last few nights."

This confession did nothing to dispel the unease he felt. "I'm sorry to hear it." She did look rather exhausted and a bit wan. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She glanced sharply at him, remembering how many times they had carefully skirted the subject of the war. "No. Not really. I don't think it would be a good idea." At his quizzical look, she added, "Sometimes the memories come back to haunt me, and I have some rough nights." Her voice was flat and bleak.

"Ah." Draco had no difficulty understanding that; he had personal experience with memory-induced insomnia. The silence stretched out, long and awkward, broken by the clink of fork against plate and cup against saucer as each strove to gather composure.

Suddenly, it became imperative to Draco that a smile should return to her face, as soon as possible. He reached out and took her hand and smiled winningly. "And here I was worried that you were suffering some traumatic stress-induced nightmares brought on by flashbacks of our erstwhile date."

Hermione realized he was trying to lighten her mood, but underneath his playful words she got the impression that he was only half-joking. "I already told you that I ended up having a wonderful night, if you recall. Did you think I would change my mind?" she teased gently.

"Well--"

"Honestly, you make it sound like 'the Date of Doom!'"

Draco huffed out a laugh. "For a while there, when we sat on that bench, it felt like it was. Or perhaps 'the Date of Despair' would be more accurate."

Hermione giggled. "What about 'the Date of Dreadfulness?'"

"Hey now!" he yelped indignantly. "No one refers to a date with Draco Malfoy, even one as disastrous as ours was, as 'dreadful!'"

Her eyes twinkled. "And here I was worried that your self-esteem had taken a blow last Saturday."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "There is no need to get cheeky, Granger." He was glad to see the mischief on her face. "After all, I seem to recall that you found the dénouement of our evening rather satisfactory."

"And if by 'dénouement,' you mean 'amazing snogging in the kitchen,'" she teased with a coquettish tilt of her chin, "then I will need a basis of comparison, Mr. Malfoy, before I can tell you if it was satisfactory or not."

Draco leaned back in the booth, took a sip of his coffee, and raised his eyebrow elegantly. "That sounded remarkably like a challenge, Miss Granger."

Hermione snorted. "Only you would interpret flirtatious banter as a challenge!"

"So, you admit you are flirting with me, do you? Well, it's not surprising, really. Few can resist the temptation, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "You are incorrigible, did you know? Are you listening to yourself? 'Few can resist the temptation.' Honestly, you--" She noticed that he was watching her; the cocky expression had melted off his face and been replaced with an amused and affectionate smile. Her heart did a flip-flop. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He reached out and took her hand again. "I'm just glad to see you smiling, Hermione," he explained softly. "I think I'm becoming addicted to your smile."

The flip-flop turned into a pitter-pat of a violently rapid nature; she was sure he could hear her heart tapping on her ribcage. She blushed and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back. "You need to finish your pie." His voice was low and rough around the edges.

"Why?" she wondered at the change in subject.

His smile could have dropped a giantess into a dead faint at a hundred meters. "So I can walk you to your front door and give you a 'basis of comparison.'"

She immediately picked up her fork and cleaned her plate.

* * *

**A/N: A _million_ thank-yous to everyone who has reviewed; your kind words of encouragement are very much appreciated! (The author virtually throws her arms around all her readers and squeezes them really tightly.) **

**My doctor has informed me I have a rare condition that requires a daily quota of reviews in order for me to maintain my strength. **

**Okay, not really… but sometimes it feels that way! I _crave_ your input; did you like it? Hate it? Have flashbacks to an equally awkward first-date experience? Please, dear reader, let me know! **

10


	6. Chapter 6

**Anger Management **

**Chapter Six**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's brilliant characters or anything you find in the HP universe. Any characters, coffee shops, restaurants or street vendors, side streets off of Diagon Alley, or other places, people and things that you do not find in JKR's works, well then you can safely assume they are mine.**

**Author Note: This story was conceived in 2006—prior to the release of **_**Deathly Hallows**_**—and I already had in my head how Harry defeated Voldemort and what happened to the trio and Draco during the final battle. I had fully expected the story to be finished prior to the release of HP & DH (ha ha, obviously that didn't work out). So this is definitely NOT DH-compliant and should be firmly relegated to the realm of AU!**

**This story won Runner Up for the "School's Out! Best Post-Hogwarts" category at the Dramione Awards on LJ!**

* * *

_Week 11_

"All right everyone, that's it. Let's get back to work," Kingsley Shacklebolt wrapped up the weekly staff meeting in his usual manner and left the briefing room. As the rest of the team filed out, Harry caught Draco's eye. The two men lingered, and finally were alone. Harry returned to his seat and leaned back, tilting the chair on its rear legs, arms crossed as he studied the blond man.

"Was there something you wanted, Potter?" Draco asked dryly. "Other than staring at my handsome face, I mean."

Harry snorted. "Right. Handsome if you are a ferret, Malfoy." He indicated another chair.

Draco took the hint and sat down, one eyebrow raised sardonically. Harry remained silent, apparently still formulating what he wanted to say. Finally Draco prompted, "What's on your mind, Scar-head?"

"Hermione."

"Ah." Draco was not surprised; he'd reckoned it would only be a matter of time before—

"I think she's smiled more times the last month than I've seen the entire year prior."

Harry's tone was conversational, but Draco was not deceived. He knew what was coming; if it were he, he'd have taken Harry aside in much the same manner. "And you are telling me this because…"

Harry grinned. "Because it is my belief that you bear much of the blame for this situation."

Draco shifted in his seat. "That's an interesting turn of phrase there: bear the blame."

"She's obviously deliriously happy, and it is your fault."

The thought that Hermione's best friend felt she was deliriously happy did funny twinge-y things to Draco's chest.

"Don't get me wrong," Harry continued, "I am very much in favor of her being happy, and of her smiling like a daft idiot, and staring into space with that girly look girls get."

The twinges turned into palpitations. Draco took a deep breath. "So your point is…"

The front legs of Harry's chair hit the floor as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grin replaced by a serious look. "I'd be a waste of a friend, and completely remiss as her best mate if I didn't say this, Malfoy. If you mess about with her, if you hurt her in any way—I'll hex your sorry arse to the moon and back."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I'm well aware of that, Potter." He looked the other man in the eye. "Let me state for the record that I have no intention of hurting her. I, too, am very much in favor of Hermione smiling."

"Right." The tension eased from his posture as Harry leaned his torso back against the chair once more. "It just needed to be said."

"Understood. After all, if our positions were reversed, I'd be saying the same thing to you." Draco smirked. "Of course, _I'd_ have been a bit more descriptive about the types of hexes I'd use, and the unpleasant effects you would experience; makes the threat a little more menacing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Naturally _you_ would, given your pathological need to boast, Ferret. I, on the other hand, don't need to embellish my threats since my reputation precedes me."

The blond wizard snorted and shook his head, but his heart wasn't into engaging in a verbal pissing contest at the moment. A thought had been niggling at him for several weeks now, cautioning him to tread carefully with this whatever-it-was he had going on with Hermione.

Noting the lack of expected retort, Harry glanced at him questioningly, eyebrow raised.

Draco took a deep breath. "She loved him, didn't she? Weasley?" he asked Harry quietly.

All traces of humor left Harry's face at the abrupt change in subject. "Yes, she did," he answered softly.

Draco nodded. After a moment he added, "Has she ever gotten over, you know… everything?"

Harry had to blink hard several times to clear the vision of ghastly green spell-light and flaming red hair and empty blue eyes… He spread his hands and shrugged. "Honestly? Have any of us?"

Silence stretched uncomfortably between the two men before Draco finally turned to eye Harry. "Don't you think it's time we did, Potter? Get over it, I mean."

The dark haired man gave an ironic snort. "I wish it was that easy, mate."

* * *

_Week 12_

"Here's to the end of that bloody class!" Draco raised his coffee cup high in a dramatic toast.

"Oh, come on, now, Draco. It wasn't all _that_ bad."

He set his cup in the saucer with a loud _clunk_. "Unbelievable. You are actually going to miss it, aren't you?"

Hermione huffed. "You have to admit that some of the information was interesting and informative. Not that I'd want to study psychology as much as Harry has, but--"

Draco snorted. "The_only_ thing that I will admit, the only _good_ thing I can say about that class is; at least I could look forward to spending some time with you afterward."

She already had opened her mouth to retort when his words sunk in. Her cheeks pinked, and she looked down at her half-eaten slice of chocolate silk pie. "Yeah, that was my favorite part, too."

He grinned and picked up his coffee cup again. "A toast then! Come on, take up your cup!" He gestured impatiently at her coffee until she complied. "To Anger Management Class!"

She clinked her cup carefully against his. "Hear, hear. If it wasn't for Anger Management Class, we would still be…" She faltered as she searched for the right words.

"Enemies?" he supplied softly.

Her eyes were thoughtful. "Not enemies. Just, not friends."

"Are we friends, then, Hermione?" he asked lightly as a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Crazy, isn't it? And the world hasn't even fallen off its axis!" She leaned forward, all mischief and good humor. "In fact," she whispered conspiratorially, "I think we may be more-than-friends!"

Draco leaned forward, too, and touched her cheek. "I _want_ to be more-than-friends," he told her softly. "I want to keep seeing you, you know."

"That's nice to know." She smiled. "Besides, you owe me a date."

----- -----

Draco held the door to the coffee shop open and gently touched the small of Hermione's back with the other hand as she waved goodbye to Flo, the waitress. Outside, he took her hand in his and began to walk. He felt the tug on his arm as she remained still and turned back. "Is everything all right?"

She was glancing around, a slightly wistful look gracing her face. "I'm reluctant for this night to end. Isn't that silly? It almost feels like, oh, I don't know… like the end of something big. Like leaving school for summer holidays. Does that make any sense?"

He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, guiding her away from the coffee shop. "It makes complete sense. You put into words exactly what I am feeling." He chuckled. "Legilimency without eye contact is quite a skill to have, you know."

Hermione had a strange feeling of déjà vu. "What?"

"_You_ said that to me."

Her brows drew together. "I did? When?"

"On the first day of that class. It was the first thing you said to me, actually."

Her mouth dropped open slightly. "And you remember that?" She felt her pulse pick up.

He stopped walking and turned her to face him. "Of course I do." He smirked. "I remember because of the look on your face when you turned around and realized it was me." He mimed an expression of a mouth open in astonishment.

"I did not look like that!" Hermione's indignant protest was edged with laughter.

"Well of course you didn't look like _this_. My features are much too gorgeous to be able to do justice to the gaping fish-out-of-water look I was going for."

Hermione playfully slapped his upper arm. "Git! I don't know why I put up with you."

Draco pulled her into a loose embrace. "For the pie and company, of course."

"Hmmm. That must be it."

He tucked his arm around her waist and began walking again. "Do you fancy a stroll? I'm not ready to call it a night."

She wound her arm around him and leaned slightly inward. "That sounds lovely."

They moved down Eatern Alley and back onto Diagon Alley, but instead of turning to go toward the Leaky Cauldron Draco pointed them in the other direction, and they meandered comfortably, arm in arm. They passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but the windows were dark; they'd already closed for the night.

Hermione noted, "I'd expect the boys to be open later, even if it isn't Friday or Saturday."

Draco stepped out into the street and circled around noting that, in fact, most of the shops had either closed, or were in the process. Only the restaurants and cafes were still open. "They certainly roll up the sidewalks early on weeknights," he agreed. "But I don't mind." He tugged her to him and draped his arms loosely around her.

Hermione's breath caught at the sparkle in his eyes. He held her gaze captive as he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. She had to admit that she'd been looking forward to this all evening, but she hadn't quite expected such a public display of affection. However, the sensation of him snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him made any debate of whether or not she should engage in such a lack of decorous behavior as snogging in the middle of Diagon Alley simply fly out of her head.

"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly when he released her mouth, although it was really rather obvious.

"I'm kissing you in the middle of the street," Draco grinned flirtatiously. "But my motives are honorable; it's strictly for research purposes. I want to make sure you have a wide comparison base for your eventual assessment."

Hermione thought back to the previous few weeks and the kisses outside her door, in her living room, in the alley behind the coffee shop… "Well, I must say, Mr. Malfoy, that you are nothing if not thorough."

Draco grinned wider and pulled her in for another kiss. "Tell me, when do you anticipate that you will have enough data, Miss Granger?"

Hermione gave him a sly smile and tilted her head coquettishly. "I couldn't say. I believe in gathering a wealth of information before I make any important decisions."

"So you are nothing if not thorough as well."

"Exactly."

He kissed her again. "Mmm… I think thoroughness is my new favorite trait of yours." He turned and pulled her hand. "Come with me."

She laughed. "Where are we going now?"

He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. "More research. I've never kissed you in front of Ollivander's before."

"Malfoy! Are you planning to kiss me at every spot between here and my flat?"

The look he gave her was pure admiration. "Merlin, but that is an absolutely brilliant idea!" He smiled wickedly as he led her across the street.

* * *

_Saturday night_

"Malfoy, what are we doing here?" Hermione looked around, astonished. She hadn't really minded when Draco had insisted on side-along Apparition; he'd looked smug and mischievous when he'd been adamant about needing the element of surprise. In spite of this, she hadn't expected him to bring her _here_ again.

Draco smiled affectionately at the witch on his arm. She had looked quite fetching when she'd opened the door to him at her flat…

"_You look smashing," he said without thinking—because she did—and added, "Nice dress." He immediately wanted to smack his head on the doorframe because he was usually much more suave and eloquent, but something about the dark-red dress (that clung to her like a heroine in a half-Sickle romance novel clung to her brawny lover) had effectively disengaged the connection of his higher cognitive functions to his mouth. _

_She looked down at her frock, obviously pleased with his reaction, and smoothed the skirt. "Thanks." She grinned up at him. "I picked this one for the color. I figure if any marinara sauce ends up on me tonight, it won't show very much."_

_He laughed. Thankfully, the Malfoy charm he'd inherited kicked in at that moment and he stepped into her flat, moving close to her. Seizing her hand, he brought it to his lips. "You are the picture of magnificence, Hermione," he told her huskily. "That color becomes you." Pink brushed her cheeks and he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss--_

"Draco?"

He shook the memory loose from his head. "We are here to collect on a debt." Ignoring her quizzical look at his cryptic explanation, he placed his hand lightly on the small of her back and guided her into La Maison d'Enchantement.

Blaise Zabini's eyes widened when he saw the lovely creature on Draco's arm. His blond friend caught his attention, and at the sardonic lift of an eyebrow, Blaise schooled his face to his usual charming smile and strode forward. _What did you expect; the same swotty eleven-year-old, but taller?_

"Ah, Blaise," Draco acknowledged him, "I believe you remember Hermione Granger?"

"Of course I do," Blaise responded smoothly. He took her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. "Miss Granger, you take my breath away. What are you doing with my idiot sod of a friend? Come away with me, my dear. I'll make sure you have the time of your life." His eyes sparkled in his striking dark face.

"Zabini?" Hermione was nonplussed. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Draco was scowling at the other's impertinence; Blaise waggled his eyebrows and smirked in the manner of a man who knew he was irresistible. "This isn't just a coincidence, is it?" she asked dryly.

Draco pointedly removed Hermione's hand from Blaise's grasp, retaining it in his own. "No, it isn't. Blaise has something to tell you, Hermione." He frowned at his friend and cocked his head. "And try to do it without any inappropriate propositions, Zabini," he growled.

Thoroughly confused now, Hermione turned wide eyes on the tall former Slytherin. He'd always been on the quiet side in school. Who knew he was such an outrageous flirt?

"Ah, yes. That." Zabini's winning smile was tipped with a bit of chagrin. He took a deep breath. "Well you see, Hermione—may I call you Hermione?—when my good mate here," he gestured to the tall blond, "asked me to do him the favor of securing reservations for the two of you here about a month ago—I have some influence here, you see; I am a silent-partner in this venture—well, I was so flabbergasted that he would show some common sense and finally ask out a woman of such obvious class and--"

Draco cleared his throat warningly. "Without defaming my character, either, if you don't mind."

Blaise glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes. "The point is, Hermione, that I mixed up my dates and made it for the following Saturday instead." He placed his hand over his heart. "Please accept my deepest apologies as I feel quite responsible for your ruined date with Draco."

"The date wasn't ruined," Hermione corrected him.

He took her hand from Draco's and tugged her a few steps away from his friend before throwing his arm around her shoulders in a confidential manner. "You're a good sport, Hermione." He began walking her toward the maitre d'. "I just didn't want you to think that Draco himself had cocked this up. He really was in rather a dither about the evening and very concerned that you might change your mind about seeing him again. I'm glad you took pity on the poor bastard and gave him another chance--"

"All right, that is quite enough out of you!" Draco caught up to him and pulled his date away. Hermione was curious to note he had pink spots high up on his cheeks.

Since they had reached the reception desk, Blaise merely turned to the man standing stiffly at attention. It was the same man who had turned them away a few weeks ago. "Gaston, these are my guests I made arrangements for tonight. Please see to it that my sins are atoned for, and that they have nothing less than a stellar experience this evening."

"Of course, sir," the stuffy man replied and turned to the couple. "If you will follow me, _monsieur_, _mademoiselle_…"

Blaise clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder, then took Hermione's hand for one more kiss. "Right, then! My work here is done. Miss Granger, to say it has been a pleasure would be a gross understatement. Have a brilliant evening!"

"Thanks, mate," Draco said gruffly, before tucking Hermione's hand in the crook of his arm as he turned to follow the maitre d'.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't, you two!" Blaise's teasing voice followed their backs as they entered the restaurant. Draco looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at his laughing chum.

"Is he always like that?" Hermione asked as Draco pulled out her seat for her.

"Like what: all charm and smarm, trying to make the ladies swoon?" Hermione nodded, an amused smile on her face. "Only when he's trying to impress," Draco noted wryly.

"Why would Blaise Zabini be trying to impress me?" Hermione wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. "And what was he talking about, you being so upset about that evening? I thought we've worked all that out."

Draco sat and accepted the menu and wine list from Gaston before dismissing the man with a nod. The smile he gave her was brushed with a hint of mischief. "It's possible that I might have exaggerated a bit when describing how the night had turned into a fiasco. Just to make sure he felt the appropriate amount of guilt for bollixing up my romantic plans."

Hermione chuckled. "Ah, right."

"And… it is also possible that I may have left out a few key details about how the date did turn out in the end." He lifted his eyebrows and eyed her quite rakishly.

Hermione leaned forward, placed each of her elbows on the table, set her chin on her interlaced fingers, and smirked coyly. "So, you didn't mention the snogging in the kitchen?"

Draco pretended to think. "No… It is highly likely _that_ is one of the key details I left out."

"You're incorrigible!" she laughed.

Draco took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. "No, my dear, I think the word you are looking for is _irresistible_."

He was still basking in the warmth of Hermione's laughter when the waiter came to take the wine order.

* * *

_Week 14_

At the light knock on her door, Hermione looked up from the file on her desk. "Oh Merlin, Draco, I completely lost track of time! It's been crazy here today--"

"No worries," the blond told her as he entered her office. "I've come to propose a change in plans," he held up a brown paper sack, "and I've already acquired dessert to sweeten the deal." He sat in a chair with a sigh. "It was hopping at the DMLE today, too. I spent the day knee-deep in the remains of both Beasts and Beings--"

"Urgh. Do I want to know?"

"No, you don't. But needless to say, I'm knackered, and you don't look to be faring much better, so I propose we take this," he lifted the bag, "and go pick up some take-away from Dimitri's before heading to your place to eat and collapse."

Hermione smiled at him. "You are brilliant! I could just fall at your feet and worship you right now."

A cocky half-smirk crossed his face. "Even exhausted, I have that effect on women."

She raised an eyebrow. "No, it's the dessert in the bag that makes me react that way. Is it truffles? Or cheesecake?"

Draco feigned a pout. "After that remark, I'm not telling, you cruel witch." He watched as Hermione laughed and straightened up her desk. "Anyway, I didn't want to give up on tonight completely because, well…"

"Because it is _our_ night, of course." She looked at him fondly. "This is a perfect solution. Thank you."

----- -----

They had polished off the souvlaki and the spanakopita, and Hermione was putting away what was left of the moussaka when she suggested that Draco take the tiny cheesecake he'd brought and some plates to the coffee table in the living room. "Let's eat pudding on the couch, yeah? I'll be out in a moment."

Draco stood and studied the couch and coffee table. He wasn't sure how he felt about having dessert in the living room. Well, that wasn't exactly right; he had absolutely no problem with the concept of eating in the living room. He wasn't some kind of _eating must be done at a dining table _purist or anything. It was something else that was bothering him…

Up until tonight, their weeknight forays had always culminated with arriving at her flat. At first, there had been goodnight kisses at her door, until the one time she'd invited him to step in. Then the end-of-the-evening snog had taken place in the living room, standing up. In fact, every kiss so far had been in the standing position; only the locations had varied. Standing provided a certain level of…safety. The kisses could get heated—and they often did progress to a deeper level of passion, especially in the last two weeks—but there was only so far two people could progress standing up.

Oh sure, he knew that wasn't strictly true; two willing participants could achieve a whole lot of intimacy while upright against a wall. But he wasn't willing to go that far with Hermione—not yet. He'd been doing some thinking lately about this relationship with her and what made it different from the fiascos in the past, and it was remembering something that Potter had said—a long time ago, long before the Anger Management Class and being reacquainted with Hermione—that had given him an epiphany.

He couldn't remember what they'd been talking about, or why Harry would tell him a Muggle saying, of all things, but Potter had said something about the definition of insanity was doing the _same_ thing over and over and expecting _different_ results. And sometime in the last two months, Draco had come to realize that was _exactly_ what he'd been doing with his romantic life.

This time, it would be different. There would be no jumping into the sack after two or three (or sometimes only one) dates. This time he was going to take it slow, and set some boundaries for his behavior (and his libido would just have to deal with it, damn it!). And boundary number one had been _when we get to Granger's flat, the evening is over, and the kissing is done standing up_.

Unfortunately, tonight had _started_ at the flat. And in a few moments, the two of them would be _sitting_ on the couch, and Draco certainly had every intention of kissing Hermione when she was finished with dessert, and maybe even before she was done. Somehow, he didn't think either of them, as tired as they both were, would want to stand back up for a snog. So it was time to figure out the next boundary before—

"_Finite incantatum_."

Draco was so startled, he nearly dropped the cheesecake. "What?"

Hermione cocked an amused eyebrow at him. "You were standing so still, I just assumed you'd been hit with a _petrificus totalus_." Her smile was impish. "What could you possibly have been so deep in thought about?"

He quickly placed the confection on the table, took her by the shoulders, and pulled her toward him. "Kissing you," he answered, before putting actions to words. He traced a path from her mouth, along her jaw and finally to her ear before whispering, "Kissing you is far better than any dessert for afters."

She laughed. "Oh no. You are not going to distract me from that lovely looking cheesecake, mister!" She pushed him down to sit on the couch and plopped down next to him before cutting two slices and putting them on the plates. She put a cooling charm on the remainder before handing him his portion.

Draco watched as Hermione savored her first bite. Her eyes were closed, and a blissful expression had taken over her face. The sight made his pulse rate increase. It didn't help any when she gave a little moan and whispered, "Oh, Draco, this is heavenly!"

Draco took the plate from her. "Hermione," he said, mock-seriously, "I'm growing concerned that our relationship has become unhealthily based on the consumption of pie."

She grabbed the plate back. "Not possible," she countered. "Besides, this is cheesecake, not pie."

"It has crust, and a filling; suspiciously pie-like if you ask me. And my point is: would you be reclining there on your couch looking so wanton and decadent if I hadn't brought dessert?" Flirtation caressed his voice.

She placed the plate on the coffee table, and leaned forward, her eyes sparking with mirth, and challenge. "So you are suggesting that pie is the only thing that might put a look of—what did you call it—wanton decadence on my face," she said, a definite purr caressing her words. "Would you care to test that theory, Malfoy?"

His expression was positively rakish. "Well, now that you mention it… yes. Yes I would." He leaned forward, cupped her jaw in his hand, and carefully tugged her mouth to his.

Hermione closed her eyes and gave herself over to the myriad of sensations she'd come to associate with snogging Draco. Her tummy flip-flopped, but not unpleasantly, her heart hammered a distinctive flamenco rhythm, and her lips tingled as she pressed herself closer and opened her mouth slightly. An intoxicating tension began to permeate every cell in her body as he pulled her lower lip between his and sucked gently, and she gave a delicate moan of approval.

The analytical and rational portion of her mind was, of course, rationally analyzing the proceedings. It occurred to her that with each man she had dated, she had been craving _this_ exact feeling; being swept up in awareness of every inch of her skin and how the touch of another affected her. In the past, she'd only experienced it at the peak of intimacy, and yet here she was now with her one-time nemesis and he'd put her in this state merely by kissing her!

"Merlin, Draco," she gasped, "your kisses are better than sex!"

Draco's brain wasn't exactly sure how to respond to such a comment, although the rest of his body had a few ideas. He leaned back and took her with him as he moved to a supine position on the couch. His hand traveled down her spine to the curve at the top of her arse as the other slipped into her hair to hold her head as he plundered her delicious mouth. She propped on her elbows and reciprocated enthusiastically.

"Damn, Hermione, you need to be careful when you say things like that," he panted when she finally lifted her mouth from his. "I thought my heart was going to stop for a moment!" A huge smile bisected his face.

She blushed and breathed quickly. "I don't know what came over me… just saying what was going through my head at the moment."

He gently touched a finger to her lips. "Don't apologize. It's a compliment of the highest order to say I can make Miss Rational Hermione Granger go completely stream-of-consciousness." He chuckled as she giggled, and shifted her over slightly so her head rested on his shoulder. "And for what it's worth, I rather like kissing you, too." He stroked his hand from her shoulder down her arm and back.

"Mmmm," she responded as she snuggled in closer.

He repeated the motion over and over while he enjoyed the scent of her shampoo and the warmth of her body against his. The weariness of earlier that evening began to creep over him, and he felt his eyes droop. He took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out through his nose.

Hermione yawned. "I'm not sure it was such a good idea to get me into a recumbent position, Draco."

He laughed lazily. "I don't think a girl has ever said that to me before in this kind of a situation." He felt her shoulders shake as she chortled against him. "I should probably go…" he said regretfully.

She squeezed him slightly. "In a few minutes," she whispered.

"Okay." He let his eyes close.

----- -----

A persistent, annoying, buzzing sound intruded on a rather pleasant dream that dissolved even as he tried to keep hold of it. Draco emerged into consciousness with the nasty feeling that he'd slept wrong; he had a sharp crick in his neck. He opened his eyes to early morning light and a riot of curls covering the side of his face and his shoulder.

"Hermione," he said softly, "wake up."

Hermione lifted her head dazedly. "What? Where are--"

"We fell asleep on your couch." He tried to move, but found that one of his arms had gone numb. "What is that awful sound, anyway?"

"Oh no! My alarm clock! Draco, I have to go to work!" She sat upright and looked around wildly before noting the clock on the mantel. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness, I still have time."

He sat up and indicated the cheesecake still under the cooling charm. "Do you have time for breakfast?"

She made a moue of disapproval, and the side of her face was lined with the pattern of the wrinkles from Draco's shirt. "That is not an appropriate breakfast!"

"C'mon, Granger. After keeping me from my comfortable bed and a good night's sleep, the least you could do is indulge me." He split the remainder of the cheesecake and put it on the plates from the night before.

She smacked his shoulder lightly. "Git! I didn't hear you complaining." She feigned indignation, but accepted the plate from him.

"Besides, there is nothing wrong with a little pie for breakfast."

"Cheesecake is not pie," she insisted.

He grinned winningly. "We are just going to have to agree to disagree on this point."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help her smile. "I can't believe we didn't wake up."

"We were both pretty knackered," he noted. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "I'm not going to get hexed by Potter or anything because of this, am I?"

She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. "For spending the night on my couch? It's not anything that _he_ hasn't done before."

Draco's eyes widened. "With you draped all over him?"

She smirked. "Well, no. It was more platonic than that."

"That's a relief." He paused, mid-bite. "Still, though, you aren't going to tell him about this, are you?"

Her smirk grew. "Well, it's going to take a lot to keep me quiet. After all, I'm sure Harry would love to tease you about how you had a willing woman draped all over you, as you so eloquently put it, and all you could do was fall asleep…"

He shoved a forkful of cheesecake in her mouth. "Shut it," he advised, sounding disgruntled. Then he did a double take and looked sharply at her. "Hang on… did you say 'willing'?"

* * *

**Last A/N: Yes, yes, I know it's been 10 months since I updated! I am so sorry, especially if you thought the fic was abandoned. I solemnly swear I will finish this story…someday. Thank you to all who voted for this story at Round 1 of the Dramione Awards on LJ.**

**Review and let me know that you are still out there, faithful readers! (Hugs my readers.)**

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